


Apperception

by obaewankenope (rexthranduil)



Series: Signalling Theory: Blue Coat [7]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: BAMF Newt, BAMF!Newt, Code: Blue Coat, Lots of OCs showing up, M/M, Questionable 1920s knowledge, Signalling Theory, Whump abound, questionable science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2018-12-04 06:59:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11549937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexthranduil/pseuds/obaewankenope
Summary: “It’s quite alright, Tina,” Newt murmured, glancing around them, his head still bowed slightly, fringe falling in front of his eyes. There was no one else around, even though the warehouse was in a relatively lively part of the docks. Perhaps Mister Graves had set up Anti-Muggle wards for the duration of their time at the warehouse?“Thee dragged me out to a scene once, not long after I joined the DCRMC because there were items at a suspect’s home he couldn’t identify and their resident potioneer had gone on holiday for the month,” he said, glancing at Tina with a slight gleam of amusement in his eyes. “I was there all day and ended up with pneumonia because it didn’t stop raining and the ingredients in the house were too sensitive to magic for warming charms to be used.”





	1. Taking a Magizoologist on a case with you is probably a bad idea, Percy. Just sayin'

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is now officially too long for me to post it as a single part, hence you're getting chapters. Thus far, I've figured there's gonna be five chapters in total. That may change. Enjoy the first chapter. Next chapter will be posted two days from now. Third one, two days after that.

The light from the street lights ringing the park illuminated the master bedroom of Percy’s home; one of the few houses still standing in this part of the city. He had forgone his usual routine of a drink, retiring to his room as soon as he’d hung his coat on the peg in the hall, and fortunately his House-Elf hadn’t bothered him about food. He found he had little appetite; it was too late, and Percy had long gone past the point of hunger.

He had intended to discard his clothes, crawl into bed and sleep for a solid four hours, but instead had found his way to the window. Staring out across the park, a pitch-black mass of trees and unlit open spaces, Percy found his mind revolving around one thing.

Newt Scamander.

Percy’s understanding of Scamander had undergone a rapid evolution since he’d discovered that the British wizard had been responsible for Grindelwald’s discovery. He’d initially started off from a biased perspective, assuming the younger Scamander would be similar to his elder brother – the war hero – only for that assumption to be _completely_ blown out of the water as he’d steadily made his way through the report Goldstein had submitted on the magizoologist’s presence in New York. His conclusion at the end of reading the report was that Scamander had to have been very lucky or just exceptional good at finding trouble.

The trial had ruined Percy’s attempts to categorise Scamander quite effectively.

Anyone who could duel Grindelwald and still avoid being injured by the Dark wizard – especially since Grindelwald had no issues with using deadly curses – and not flinch in the face of such an opponent was not just “lucky”. Percy had no idea what they were, but luck certainly didn’t come into a duel of such magnitude; least of all when it was obvious Scamander was well-versed in duelling.

Learning from Scamander’s school records that he’d quite literally been one of his school’s champions at duelling had gone further in ruining Percy’s attempts to define the magizoologist; as had the report of Scamander nearly causing the death of a student with a dangerous creature.

Even though Percy could have readily believed Scamander could do such a thing and not regret it before meeting the man for lunch with Goldstein, after he just hadn’t been able to make it fit with the image of Scamander he was building. _Again_.

The wizard he’d met had been polite, quiet and shy to a painful degree. That wizard had found human interaction to be truly awkward and obviously uncomfortable for him. Percy had noted Scamander’s reaction to his presence, the way the man had gradually grown accustomed to him –no doubt dealing with the disorienting effect of sitting in semi-companionable silence with someone who looked exactly like the person who’d attacked him ruthlessly only weeks prior. Percy’s estimation of Scamander had greatly increased just from that realisation alone; it took a strong, stubborn individual to refuse to give in to their instincts when faced with reminders of a trauma.

Percy could attest to that.

But, there had been moments in the café, moments when Percy had seen the way Scamander stopped being awkward and shy – brief and fleeting flashes that disappeared behind the face of shy politeness and averted eyes – that Percy felt lined up quite well with Scamander’s near-expulsion. It was something Percy just couldn’t reconcile with the man he’d spent more time talking and listening to as he harped on about magical creatures and his travels.

And yet.

Scamander’s duelling prowess didn’t mesh with the shy and awkward man Percy had met in the café. It suited the calm stillness that slid over Scamander like a veil, obscuring his insecurities and social ineptitudes from sight.

Some of the spells Scamander had cast at Grindelwald that day in the heart of MACUSA, Percy knew, were dark and banned in most of the world. The fact that he hadn’t hesitated to use them, not even in full view of Aurors’ and Picquery…

Yes, Percy could easily reconcile that with the idea that Scamander threatened the life of a student while at school.

It was a jarring, disturbing dissonance; the divide between the Newt Scamander that Percy could see as respectful, polite and deserving of his time, and the Newt Scamander that could be absolutely _deadly_ if he wished to be.

He had no idea how to reconcile the two images, to amalgamate them into one single Newt Scamander, even though Percy knew that he had to.

He wasn’t exactly a perfect example of how a wizard should, Percy knew this about himself with absolute certainty. His own ability to perform wandless magic with ease, to cast spells and curses quicker than most of his department combined, and his own ruthless pursuit of justice, made Percy a poor judge of character.

He was far too cynical and couldn’t help but find it disturbing that Scamander had a side to himself that echoed Percy’s own darker side.

That sort of dichotomy wasn’t _normal_ for civilians – not like it was for Aurors and criminals. It wasn’t– a magizoologist shouldn’t have such a dramatic range of behaviour.

Scamander’s wartime service record was a sparse thing, too many black lines and blocked-out sections that rang alarm bells in Percy’s head as he thought about the man. Most of the wizards that had been on the front line had been Aurors’ or training to become an Auror. Scamander might have been the same –it was certainly possible. Scamander had been born in 1897, so he’d have been nineteen by the time the war began, and it certainly wasn’t unusual for young wizards just starting out to have a sudden change of heart about their career paths.

Somehow Percy just couldn’t see the magizoologist as an Auror however; filling out paperwork for every action he took on a case, collecting witness statements, chasing down criminals and protecting No-Maj without causing further damage. The magizoologist hadn’t even finished his book according to his brother! He’d have been impossible with all the paperwork an Auror was required to fill out daily.

Oh, who was he kidding, Percy could _definitely_ see Scamander as an Auror; the sort that caused a lot of chaos but was exceptionally good at their job. Sort of like Goldstein in a way.

He probably would have been impossible to get to do the paperwork, but Percy had already seen glimpses of a very capable, skilled and intelligent wizard hiding behind Scamander’s awkwardness. If that shyness was stripped away…

Percy shook his head, snorting out an amused breath. He should go to sleep – he was obviously sleep-deprived if he was imagining what Newt Scamander would be like as an Auror.

Very sleep-deprived.

The man was a walking menace, insanely obsessed with his creatures – to the point where he literally risked life and limb for the sake of curiosity – and painfully incapable of social interaction without stuttering and avoiding eye contact.

That was the end of it.

Percy banged his fist lightly on the window ledge twice before turning away from the window and making his way towards his bed. If he was lucky, he might manage two or three hours before he’d have to drag himself back up and get back to work. Gesturing with two fingers in a lazy salute, Percy heard the gentle swish of material as the curtains closed and darkness engulfed the room. A second gesture had the lamp near his bed flickering to life, a burst of flame as the candle inside it ignited suddenly.

His bed was cold, but Percy couldn’t be bothered with casting a warming charm; it would warm up soon enough, and he’d never been one for sleeping well in an already warm bed. He lay down, burrowing deeply into the bed, dragging the covers up to his chin, clutching them in a soft grip as his other hand popped out from beneath the blankets. He flicked his hand, index finger pointing at the candle.

The room blinked back into darkness.

Percy closed his eyes, relaxing into comfortable plush of his mattress, the charms worked into the fabric of his bedding kicking in and making him feel as though he was cocooned in safety. Three hours and he’d be up. But that was three hours he’d get to sleep in absolute comfort and security.

It’d be enough.

It had to be.

 

* * *

 

“So why exactly did you want to talk to Newt, sir?” Goldstein asked as she sat in his office. She had discarded her suit jacket, hanging it over the back of her chair as they poured over the documents they had on their latest case.

A case that was driving Percy closer and closer to murdering the file clerk.

How could there be so much pointless information filed on suspects that was _absolutely_ _useless_ in identifying them or their location?

 _Honestly_.

“Hmm?” Percy blinked. He looked up from the sheet he’d been picking through for the last twenty minutes, hoping against hope that there was at least one useful damned thing contained in the statement from a No-Maj who’d been one of the only witnesses they’d had to the crime.

“You said something about wanting to speak to Newt earlier this week, sir,” Goldstein repeated, her own documents resting in her lap as she flipped through the pages idly. She glanced up at Percy. “I mentioned it to him when I saw him yesterday; he says he’s free to talk to whenever by the way.”

Percy blinked again. “Right,” he said firmly, not showing his subordinate that he wasn’t firing on all cylinders at the moment and his mind was too burnt out by the sheer amount of paperwork they’d been slogging through to do anything more than note her words. He vaguely recalled something to do with Scamander earlier in the week, but he couldn’t really recall what off the top of his head.

It could possibly be related to the case.

“This is pointless,” he said suddenly, pushing the papers in front of him away and leaning back in his chair. Goldstein looked at him, eyebrows raised in silent curiosity. “Whoever is committing these crimes is obviously very good at what they do, and slogging through this over and over isn’t going to give us anything new at this point.”

“There’s always a chance we’re missing something, sir,” Goldstein jumped in, coming to the defence of their investigation as she always did. It was endearing, her optimism and determination, but right now Percy felt like setting his entire desk alight. “Maybe there’s something in those warehouse manifests that we don’t think anything of?”

Percy scratched his chin thoughtfully, idly noting he’d have to shave tonight if he wanted to avoid a five o’clock shadow tomorrow. “Maybe,” he allowed cautiously. Goldstein visibly brightened.

“But it’s just as likely that there _isn’t_ anything special about the warehouse scene and we’re focusing on it because of an assumption that the other crimes were distractions designed to waylay us,” he said, frowning in frustration down at his desk. “Either way, there’s little more we can do tonight. Go home Goldstein, get some rest. God knows it’s needed with this damned case dragging its heels.”

Goldstein nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Percy listened to the noise is subordinate made as she sorted the loose-leaf documents in her lap into an organised pile, leaning forward to deposit them on the edge of his desk. The soft rustle of material as she pulled on her suit jacket, followed by the quiet click of her low-heeled shoes crossing the room to the door.

He looked up suddenly at the pause in activity from Goldstein, taking in the way the young witch stood with her hand on the handle of his office door, obviously thinking something through. Percy waited patiently.

“Sir,” Goldstein began, looking at Percy with a carefully composed expression on her young features. Percy raised an eyebrow. “Do you think the warehouse manifests could have been fudged?”

Percy stared at Goldstein slack-jawed.

Goldstein shifted awkwardly. “It’s just, some of the things on the manifest for the East warehouse seem… well they sound like bogus to me, sir.”

“Goldstein–” Percy began but Goldstein cut him off, rushing over to his desk as she tried to explain her reasoning to him a rushed babble.

“You see, sir, there’s parts of the manifest that sound really mundane and very No-Maj but there’s also these items that sound… strange. Like, not in the way that screams ‘criminal’ or anything, but more like they make no sense to be included in the manifest with everything else!” Goldstein exclaimed, staring at Percy with a pleading, desperate glint her eyes as she held out a sheet of paper, creased and worn with lightly-fading black-printed letters on it.

Percy glanced at the sheet, catching sight of predictable items listed such as tea, sugar, coffee and chocolate, that seemed entirely above-board and expected in a warehouse used by a number of the larger stores providing produce to the people of New York. But there were one or two items on the list that – now that Goldstein mentioned it – didn’t seem to really belong with the rest of the stuff.

“Who thinks storing food stuffs in the same location as animal hides and other things from a hunting trip to Africa is a good idea?” Percy asked aloud, taking the sheet from Goldstein and reading over it slowly.

“That’s not all, sir,” Goldstein said, and Percy looked up at her, expectant. “When the first Aurors on the scene interviewed the guard, he said that there were only food stuffs inside, nothing else. No-Maj so we can’t question him further, but Valent’s report states that there wasn’t anything inside except food stuffs; he didn’t see anything like hunting prizes.”

“Stolen?” Percy asked immediately.

Goldstein shook her head. “Valent’s followed procedure and his spell work is very good, sir. He got nothing from checking for anything missing from the scene. Whatever is referenced in the manifest as coming from Africa is still in the warehouse.”

“But it didn’t show up as living or non-edible? That’s what you’re saying?” Percy pressed, focused on his subordinate who was working through the puzzle of their case brilliantly. He wondered how long she’d been thinking on this before finally talking to him about it; no more than a day he guessed – Goldstein was too dedicated to her job to dither about.

She nodded. “I think so, sir. Either that or Valent’s was hoodwinked,” she allowed, frowning at the possibility. “I’m not sure what they could be hiding but…” she trailed off.

“But tomorrow we’re going to spend a lot of time acquainting ourselves with the contents of that warehouse.” Percy finished firmly, dropping the manifest on to his desk as he stood up. “Good work Goldstein,” he said, nodding his approval of Goldstein’s diligence. She almost glowed at the praise. “Now go home and get a good night’s sleep. It’s going to be needed if we’re to be traipsing around a warehouse all day tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Goldstein said, flashing him a smile as she turned away from him. She reached the door to his office, opening it deftly before she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Would it be an idea if Newt went with us, sir?” She asked. “If there’s anything there that’s exotic, he might have seen something like it before during his travels.”

Percy paused, thinking on it before he nodded. “Good idea. Meet me outside the warehouse at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow morning with Mister Scamander, Goldstein,” he ordered, and Goldstein nodded before she disappeared out of his office.

Percy looked down at his desk, staring blankly at the papers on it. He’d been hoping to talk to Scamander, to satisfy his curiosity about the magizoologist, but this was work. Percy never indulged when it came to his work, so talking with Scamander would have to wait until the case was solved or Scamander’s presence was not required.

 

* * *

 

At eight-fifty sharp, Newt and Tina apparated into an alley a few minutes from the warehouse, the brisk morning air making them shiver and pull their coats tighter against their bodies.

“Sorry about this, Newt,” Tina said quietly, smiling at Newt who ducked his head, a small smile on his face. “I didn’t think Mister Graves would have us out quite this early; usually we’d spend at least an hour back at HQ before heading out to the scene.”

“It’s quite alright, Tina,” Newt murmured, glancing around them, his head still bowed slightly, fringe falling in front of his eyes. There was no one else around, even though the warehouse was in a relatively lively part of the docks. Perhaps Mister Graves had set up Anti-Muggle wards for the duration of their time at the warehouse?

“Thee dragged me out to a scene once, not long after I joined the DCRMC because there were items at a suspect’s home he couldn’t identify and their resident potioneer had gone on holiday for the month,” he said, glancing at Tina with a slight gleam of amusement in his eyes. “I was there all day and ended up with pneumonia because it didn’t stop raining and the ingredients in the house were too sensitive to magic for warming charms to be used.”

Tina laughed quietly. “Why am I not surprised?” She said, crinkles around her eyes as she smiled at him. “You and your brother seem like a disaster together.”

Newt huffed out an amused breath. “We are,” he agreed. “Thee likes to pretend he doesn’t go out of his way to cause mischief but he’s just better at feigning innocence to our mother. Though–” Newt paused, head raising as he looked Tina in the eye for a moment, a bright smile on his face “–I am much better at getting away with causing trouble than him with mother.”

“The rights of a younger sibling,” Tina laughed. “Queenie used them all the time with our parents.”

Newt laughed with her as they crossed the wide street, heading in the direction of the entrance to the warehouse. He glanced down at his watch on his right wrist, pulling the sleeve back just enough to see the watch face; six minutes to go.

“Is Mister Graves– does he usually show up on time?” Newt asked Tina, glancing at her fleetingly as he looked around them.

“Always,” Tina replied. “He’s either exactly on time or early.” She looked at him. “Why?”

Newt shook his head.

“Just curious,” he said, shrugging a shoulder awkwardly even as he cast out with his magic to survey the area. It wasn’t exactly a spell he was casting, more like a conscious attempt to direct his magic beyond his body without giving it a specific target in mind through the use of language. A number of magical individuals – Newt was reluctant to call them ‘wizards’ since a number of them had refused the title when he’d called them such – he’d come across during his travels had all used their magic in a similar way, using it to give them awareness of the land around them, locating hidden caves, underground springs and, on one notable occasion, a missing child. He’d spent many months trying to emulate the technique, helped along by the people he met who offered him aid in payment for his assistance with exotic illnesses affecting families in regions of the world that had never experienced this-or-that particular strain of Dragon Pox or Muggle sickness like Typhoid.

The area really was empty of any other people save themselves and one gentle, well, _blip_ , on Newt’s awareness; just inside the warehouse. He looked at it.

“Might he already be inside?” Newt asked carefully, somewhat hopeful that it was Mister Graves he could sense inside the building and not someone else.

He _really_ didn’t want it to be someone else.

Tina frowned. “Possibly,” she conceded. “I suppose the only way we’ll know is to check.”

Newt surreptitiously slipped his wand into his hand, noting that Tina had reached into her sleeve to draw her own. Proper procedure for Aurors’ everywhere, Newt thought, amused despite the possibility of trouble.

Tina pushed the door of the warehouse open, careful to not let it clang, and Newt followed behind her; ducking to avoid hitting the top of the doorway, fingering his wand nervously. His magic concentrated on the warehouse, mapping it out in a way that still defied every attempt Newt had made to explain it to Thee, and he paused as his sense of another person grew stronger.

The magic felt familiar. Like someone he knew.

“Mister Graves?” Newt called out in the quiet warehouse, pointedly ignoring the way Tina shot him a sharp, warning look at him from beside him. “Mister Graves, are you there?”

“Mister Scamander!”

Tina’s head snapped around, gaze locking onto her boss as he strode towards them from amongst the high shelves of the warehouse. “Sir!” She exclaimed, surprised. Her instincts told her to drop her wand and greet her superior but after everything that happened with Grindelwald, experience had her keeping her wand out.

Newt glanced at Tina, noting her stance and the way she was watching Mister Graves. He realised, quite suddenly, that Tina obviously was weary of her superior still. “It’s him, Tina,” he said softly, barely audible, but Tina heard him.

She glanced at him. Newt held her gaze. “It’s him,” he repeated, not looking away.

“I’m surprised you showed up on time, Mister Scamander,” Graves said dryly, and Newt looked away from Tina to flick his gaze over the other wizard. “To hear your brother tell it, you’re positively incapable of showing up anywhere on time.”

“My brother, uh– tends towards exaggeration, Mister Graves,” Newt replied. “He’s the one who requires three alarms to wake him up in the morning.”

Graves raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk of amusement on his face as he crossed the last of the distance between himself and Newt and Tina. “I can imagine.”

“Did you find anything, sir?” Tina asked. She looked at Graves, wand lowered but not holstered as she waited for him to respond.

Newt could understand her wariness, his own fingers itched as he gripped his wand tightly, but he pushed the urge to raise it down. This was the real Percival Graves. There was no cause for such action; it would be impolite, even if Mister Graves understood the reason behind it.

“Nothing more than the typical for No-Maj imports, Goldstein,” Graves responded, coming to a stop before them, just shy of three feet between them – an acceptable distance. “I can feel magic but can’t pinpoint it however,” he added.

Newt frowned, biting the inside of his lip as he cast out with his magic again, searching the warehouse in greater detail than he’d managed outside – something about walls interfered with his sensitivity; he’d never been able to quite figure out why. He idly noted that Graves tensed, apparently sensitive enough to wandless and wordless magic that he sensed Newt’s own magic casting out.

Ignoring that interesting fact, Newt focused on the warehouse, magic gliding over and through the items in the warehouse; most benign Muggle items, some slightly more questionable but still undoubtedly Muggle – he imagined the Muggle police would be interested in the contents of boxes thirty through forty-one – until–

Newt blinked, the hand gripping his wand twitching visibly and both Tina and Graves looked at him.

“Newt?” Tina asked, a frown on her face as she looked at her friend. “What is it?”

“Mister Scamander,” Graves stated, not a question but a statement awaiting a response from the magizoologist.

Newt blinked again, drawing his magic back to himself as he glanced at the two Auror’s. “I think I uh– may know what that sense of magic is originating from Mister Graves,” he said quietly, gaze locking with Graves’s dark eyes. “I’ve come across something similar in my travels.”

“Can you locate it?” Graves asked immediately.

Newt nodded.

“Then lead the way Mister Scamander.”

The trio fell silent as Newt began walking, Tina and Graves following behind him with the gentle clipping of shoes on the concrete ground. Newt paused at the corner of a large container, about his height and about as long as he was tall. There were questionable items within it, of that Newt had no doubt, but they weren’t what they were looking for.

“You may wish to have someone inform the uh– No-Maj police that this has a number of prohibited items in it,” Newt informed Graves, turning his head slightly to give the Auror a look out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re certain?” Graves asked, not doubting Newt but seeking clarification. It was apparently as tedious to inform Muggle police this side of the Atlantic as it was in Britain judging by the slight flash of disgust Tina expressed at Newt’s words.

Newt nodded. “Quite,” he said, firmer than he usually was. Newt was aware that this sort of thing wasn’t his area of expertise – and he was quite thankful for that fact –but he had a wealth of experiences that most Auror’s didn’t unless they travelled and worked across the globe.

Graves jerked his head, gaze on the container. Before their eyes a large black ‘X’ burned itself into the wooden slats of the container. Tina and Newt looked from the mark to Graves.

“Saves time,” was Graves’ response. Newt huffed out a quiet breath, amused at the Auror’s statement.

It wasn’t like he was wrong. Newt had listened to Theseus complain about his efforts in providing the Muggle police with information on things they’d come across in their own investigations, only to end up having to modify their memories more often-than-not. Their father had had similar problems when he’d been an Auror as well; it was apparently a common thing in regard to the Muggle police.

As far as Newt was aware, the only way he’d managed to figure out a solution was down to a squib who had joined the police force in London about four years ago; if it weren’t for the man, Newt doubted his brother would be even half as sane as he was. Muggles really did tend to infuriate him, especially those whose very job in life was to solve crimes and find solutions to problems.

Newt suspected his brother found them too relatable, save for their lack of magic preventing him from making their acquaintance. For all that Thee truly was a good Auror, he did so hate outright lying to people – it was one of his best and worst attributes. Not that Newt could talk, he quite despised lying also, but if it protected his creatures he’d lie until the world ended and wouldn’t regret it.

The look Graves gave Newt as they continued along the isle of the warehouse, steadily approaching the magical object pinging on Newt’s senses, was contemplative –the sort that wasn’t meant to be noticed by the subject, but Newt could see the man quite well out of the corner of his eye. His magic was also quite helpful in telling him when he was being watched.

He ignored the urge to glance at the Auror. It would be the height of silliness to look at the man, least of all because Newt was here with a purpose and staring at Percival Graves was not it.

Even if he felt the urge to do so increase with every step he took.

Tina walked besides Newt, Graves behind – a standard formation when Aurors’ investigated locations in small numbers – as they moved deeper into the warehouse, occasionally stopping beside a crate or container that Newt noted contained contraband; some magical, some muggle.

Graves marked those for the muggle police with a large ‘X’ while Tina charmed those with magical contraband with a location marker to keep track of them if their owners returned for them. It was a more effective method since most of the contents were harmless items and not creatures or dangerous potion ingredients.

Newt couldn’t help but wonder how many illegal items made their way into the magical community of America without ever being on the MACUSA’s radar. Although, Newt was aware of how many illegal breeders lived in Britain under the radar – he was friends with several of them in fact – so he wasn’t exactly surprised by their discoveries in the warehouse.

Crime didn’t stop just because legislation made it harder to commit, criminals simply became smarter and their crimes more elaborate.

“This is it,” Newt said, stopping in front of a crate, long and wide, on the bottom of the long palette isle shelf.

“Are you certain?” Graves asked.

“There’s no charms or spells on this Newt.” Tina frowned, her wand hovering over the crate emitting a thin silver strand connected to a spiralling web of silver curled around the crate.

Graves looked at his subordinate, eyebrow raised in a manner that Newt recognised as doubt.

He reached out carefully, wand pointing at the crate, and murmured a spell that neither Tina nor Graves understood. “ _Whakaaturia katoa_.”

Tina let out a surprised gasp, stepping back from the crate from the sheer amount of magic pouring off it. Graves hissed out a curse.

“How the _fuck_ did they manage to hide all that?” He demanded, some rougher accent mixing into his usually reserved, cultured accent. He glared at the crate.

Newt looked at him, catching the Auror’s dark gaze and he answered in a quiet, somewhat tired voice. “It’s not as common as you’d think, Mister Graves,” he reassured the Auror, noticing the tense frown on the wizard’s face and correcting assuming its cause, “this sort of spell is incredibly complex, and I doubt there are many members of the criminal element who know it. I’ve come across it perhaps five times in total; twice in New Zealand, once in Australia and the remaining three times in Egypt.”

 “But what _is_ it?” Tina blurted, returning to stand beside Newt as the three of them turned to look at the crate in unison. “It feels like there’s bugs crawling all over my skin.”

Newt glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, frowning slightly. “It shouldn’t,” he said, turning, Newt stared at Tina, objectively noting the way she stood; fingers twitching anxiously at her side, wand held in a white-knuckled grip, shoulders tense. “I was told it should only ever feel like soft material running along your body, not bugs.”

“So, what does that mean?” Tina asked, giving Newt a slightly panicked look.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I have never come across a Legilimens who has experienced this spell being undone so perhaps that’s why it’s different for you,” he guessed, looking at Tina with a curious expression.

Tina blinked, surprised. “But I’m not a Legilimens,” she pointed out, confused. The worry was still present, but held in check by her Auror training – something Newt found himself quite proud of his friend for; he’d seen a number of Aurors’ fall apart because of fear in the past – as Tina focused on Newt’s words. The reality that what she was feeling wasn’t deadly, or ostensibly dangerous, had calmed her somewhat, fortunately.

“No, but your sister is,” Newt replied, “it’s not all that uncommon for siblings to share the same or similar magical traits – especially one such a Legiligmency. It could be yours is latent while Queenie’s is active.”

Graves looked at Tina, a contemplative expression on his face. “That could be why you were so distrustful of Grindelwald,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he shrugged a little when Tina looked at him in surprise.

“Sir?”

“Grindelwald is a skilled Occlumens, so skilled that none of our registered Legilimens – such as your sister – were able to sense him,” Graves explained patiently, even as he moved to stand beside Newt at the front of the crate, peering down at it. “But constant Occluding is an exhausting form of magic if you lack a natural talent for it; and even then, it can be tiring when faced with constant exposure to numerous Legilimens. The more advanced shields that are designed to repel Legilimens and their attacks require conscious effort. However, the lower, more mundane forms of emotional interference are much easier to maintain for any capable Occlumens; myself included.

“There have been cases of individuals with latent Legiligmency who have experienced instinctive reactions to individuals who regularly Occlude – one case that I can personally recall was a case involving a wizard suspected of swindling his aunt out of a large amount of money; one of my superiors had a brother who was a natural Legilimens and found the suspect to be very untrustworthy, even though we had no evidence to prove he’d committed the crime he was accused of.”

“What happened to the suspect?” Tina asked, intrigued despite herself.

The worry in the witch had faded away, replaced with an avid curiosity and interest in Mister Graves’ tale. Newt observed the interaction with gentle fondness – Percival Graves was a very different man to how he had seemed when Grindelwald had worn his visage, that was plainly obvious considering the almost nurturing manner he behaved with a visibly unnerved subordinate. Thee was the same with any of the Aurors in his department who needed a helping hand or supportive colleague in times of distress.

“Oh, he accidentally ingested Veritaserum and confessed,” Graves answered nonchalantly.

Tina let out a surprised: “What!”; as Newt snorted dryly.

Graves glanced up, his eyes locking with Newt’s over the crate, a glimmer of amusement in them. “Funny how often that happens,” he added lightly, making Newt duck his head as he grinned in amusement.

“Very,” Newt said quietly, a faint blush on his face as he glanced back up at Graves. The Auror’s eyes were bright, the shadows of his time a hostage of Grindelwald erased by the humour visible in the quirking of his lips.

Newt could feel the way Graves’s gaze lingered on him and found himself incredibly thankful that his hair was long enough to obscure his eyes when he ducked his head down to rest slightly on a raised shoulder. Part of him wanted to look up, to meet those dark eyes and see the bright glimmer of amusement in them – so different from the haunted shadows that normally resided in them – but the larger part of him – the part that Newt relied on to approach creatures no matter the situation – held him back; the desire to meet those eyes held in check by years of experience and painstakingly cultivated behavioural cues.

Forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand Newt flicked his wand quickly, watching as the nails securing the top of the crate dug themselves out of the wooden slates with a squeaking sort of sound. Immediately the atmosphere around the three changed; Tina’s nervousness buried beneath steel determination and focus, while Graves’s attention switched to the crate.

Tina cast a detection spell, revealing nothing more daunting than a stinging hex on the crate lid; obviously, the persons who had cast the initial charm hadn’t anticipated anyone possessing the ability to discover and dispel it. Graves countered the hex with a single wave of his wand and the three of them were left with the lid of the crate ready to be lifted.

A silent discussion between Tina and Graves ensued for a moment as Newt watched them, both Auror’s obviously weighing up the pros-and-cons of who was best suited to handle any other spells or hexes that may be triggered by the removal of the lid. Newt doubted that the smugglers would go to such extreme lengths in truth, but he had limited experience with smuggled goods – unless they were living creatures; those he had experience with in _excess_.

“How about I- uh, open it?” Newt suggested quietly, drawing their attention. He glanced at each of them, noting the surprised expressions on both their faces. “It would- you could both deal with whatever happens then.”

Tina stared at him for a long moment, her gaze coloured with concern, before she looked at Graves who hadn’t stopped staring at Newt. His gaze was darker, the amusement of moments ago absent, and there was a shadow of something Newt found made him want to draw to his full height; as though he needed to show that he wasn’t weak or inept.

He pushed it back, focusing on simply meeting Mister Graves’ stare without blinking or looking away. It was surprisingly difficult.

 _‘I am capable of this Mister Graves,’_ Newt thought, his blue eyes hardening as he continued to meet Graves’s stare, refusing to bow. He had outlasted Griffins and Hippogriffs before, he could outlast this wizard. He’d met Grindelwald’s gaze before and held it; Newt was anything _but_ weak.

“Fine,” Graves finally said, almost spitting the word out. The tension creeping into Newt’s shoulders dispelled with the affirmation from the Auror, replaced with a new tension as he looked away from Mister Graves to stare at the crate lid.

Whatever was inside, Newt imagined it’d be important and likely very, very expensive. The risks the smugglers would run if they had additional charms and spells active inside the crate… well, Newt imagined they would have to be either _very_ paranoid or doubt the integrity of the concealment spell.

He _really_ hoped they weren’t the paranoid sort.

The contents of the crate seemed, at first glance, typically magical; an assortment of potion vials, dried potion ingredients and what Newt readily identified as finely ground up Griffin Horn based on the speckles of silver in the bone dust.  Tina and Graves were poised for any sudden reaction inside the crate –and outside –while Newt carefully lowered the lid of the crate to the ground.

“Well, I do believe there’s nothing in here that’s reactive to the air,” Newt said after a moment, peering into the crate as he reached inside to gently poke a dried bundle of what looked like some sort of lavender plant. “Those vials are sealed and charmed to be unbreakable, so I don’t believe we have anything to worry about with them.”

“Do you know what they are?” Graves asked, and Newt glanced up at the Auror, pausing as his eyes met the other wizard’s. “Are they dangerous?”

Newt hesitated. “Well,” he began, looking back down into the crate and gesturing with his wand. “This looks like powdered Griffin Horn – an illegal substance when it’s this fine due to its volatility in transit. I do believe you can only transport it with the required permits from Magical Law Enforcement Offices and you have to declare when you’re travelling with it.”

Graves nodded. “We’ve dealt with that before.”

Newt cleared his throat, glancing back up at Graves for a moment before continuing in his explanation of the crate’s contents. “Ah well then, I would uh– imagine you’re familiar with these as well then–” he gestured at the potion vials that had small labels on them in a fine scrawl “–Venom from the _Pterois Miles_ fish, uh– the Common Lionfish; found in the Red Sea off Egypt–” pointing his wand at another vial, Newt glanced up at Graves and Tina again “–this one contains a fairly large amount of Poppy extract –that’s the plant that Muggles get Opium, or Morphine from, depending on the type of Poppy. Again, it’s quite common in Egypt. And this here–” a large vial that had no liquid in it, rather containing dried leaves with some sort of salt on the leaves “–looks to be dried Lotus Blossom. I’m not quite sure what type of Lotus but, since at least four of the items in this crate look to be from the Middle East, I’m assuming it is perhaps leaves from the Blue Lotus Blossom which is quite an important plant in Egypt.”

“So, all of these ingredients are Egyptian?” Graves asked, a hint of something in his voice, a tightness to it, that had Newt looking up at the Auror sharply. There wasn’t anything revealing on Graves’s face save a tightening around his dark eyes. “Or likely from Egypt?”

Newt stared at the Auror, not glancing away as he took in the wizard’s stance and the slight tension in Graves’s shoulders. “Most likely,” he agreed, nodding slightly. “I can’t be certain – this isn’t exactly my speciality – but I do think they are, yes.”

“Is that important, sir?” Tina asked, looking at her superior who seemed to breathe out a tired sigh.

“I’m not sure,” he replied, frowning slightly. “Box this back up and seal it,” he ordered. “We’ll take it back with us to MACUSA and put it in evidence.”

“Yes sir.” Tina pointed her wand at the crate, murmuring an inaudible spell as Graves flicked a finger and the lid of the crate rose off the ground. Newt stepped back as the crate lid moved through the air, hovering over the top of the crate.

Graves looked at Tina as she flicked her wand and completed her spell. She nodded at him. “Good to go sir.”

Newt frowned suddenly, head rising sharply.

“Something isn’t right,” he murmured.

Reaching out with his magic, Newt felt a frisson of something in the area.

“Mister Graves.”

Graves’s head turned, already raising his wand at the tension in Newt’s voice. “What is it?”

Newt shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he said, moving away from the crate with his wand raised. “I–”

A jet of pale blue light shot past Newt’s head, impacting the shelf behind him with a loud _bang_ and he ducked, instinctively diving towards the nearest set of shelves for cover.

“Get _down!”_ Graves roared even as Newt was moving.

Out of the corner of his eye, Newt spotted Tina darting behind a shelf full of small wooden boxes even as Graves cast a shield charm in front of them. Another beam, this time red, impacted the shield, the air around the shield sizzling like a mirage.

“Goldstein!” Graves called out. “Send an alert _now!”_

“Already done, sir!” Tina shouted back over the sound of another spell impacting the shield, the loud fizzling sound it produced almost drowning her out. “They’ll be here in three minutes!”

“That’s too fucking long!”

Newt flicked a surprised look at Graves, mildly shocked at the profanity, but his attention was drawn by his magic alerting him to another danger.

“There appears to be more of them,” Newt called out mildly, turning on his heel and shooting off a stunner even as he did. The bright red beam hit its target between two crates three isles behind them.

“Perfect.” The sarcasm in Graves’ voice made Newt’s lips quirk even as he shot off another stunner.

“I’ll handle the ones behind us,” Newt said, voice hardening and brokering no room for argument.

“Don’t fucking die, Scamander,” Graves shot at him, turning his head to give the magizoologist a heavy stare. There was something in Mister Graves’ eyes that made Newt’s heart constrict painfully for a moment.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mister Graves.” Newt gave him a wide smile. “My creatures would never forgive me.”

Graves’ snort of laughter made Newt’s smile widen as he moved swiftly away from the two Aurors.

_“Stupefy!”_

Newt ducked, dropping to the ground as the red beam shot over his head. He scowled darkly, shifting until he was on his hands and knees, before crawling along the isle. Newt hoped the sound of his body dropping might have tricked one of the wizards attacking them. It’d give him the opportunity to surprise them.

Hopefully.

Aiming his wand at a large collection of boxes and crates stacked near the closest wall, Newt murmured a near silent _“Bombarda”_ at them, causing them to explode in a violent shower of splinters and paper.

A pained cry from one of the assailants revealed his position to Newt who wasted no time in aiming a _stupefy_ through a gap in the boxes on the shelf to his left in the attacker’s general direction. The sound of a body impacting the ground followed by a quiet clatter of a dropped wand indicated the spell’s success. Creeping along the aisle, Newt glanced around the corner, carefully moving onto one knee as he did.

There were hundreds of splinters scattered across the floor, some of them over three inches long. Newt grimaced; he did _not_ want to fall on any of those.

If the _wizards_ attacking them fell on them however…

He smirked. Unfortunate for them.

Movement two aisles down caught Newt’s attention and he ducked lower, head nearly on par with his kneecap as he carefully reached out with his wand-hand around the aisle.

Behind him he heard Tina throwing out a collection of offensive and defensive spells –accompanied by the sounds of pained grunts from whoever she managed to hit –interspersed with Mister Graves’s deep voice and the sensation of wandless and wordless magic used in tandem.

_“Ignis frigore!”_

Newt glanced behind him, eyebrows raised as he watched one of their attackers drop to the floor only a few feet from Graves, wand forgotten as he curled up in a ball and began turning blue.

_Freezing fire._

Hypothermia.

“That is a _very_ unusual spell to know, Mister Graves,” Newt murmured, eyeing the Auror as he continued battling the remaining attackers with Tina.

There were only three left.

Turning his attention back to the ones trying to sneak up on them, Newt decided to go with speed over stealth.

Surging up from his position on one knee, he darted for the next aisle, doing his best to move on the balls of his feet to avoid making too much noise.

A jet of bright green light shot out from the aisle he’d seen movement in and it was only his quick reflexes that saved Newt from being hit. Dropping mid-run, he hit the ground painfully hard, a shard of the destroyed boxes embedding itself in his leg and tiny splinters digging into his hands.

Hissing in pain, Newt jumped right back up, reaching the second aisle, wand moving in a complex series of rapid movements as he did so.

The wizard, dark haired, wearing a black-suit that had seen better days, snarled at Newt as he rounded the corner of the aisle.

_“Avad–”_

A loud boom cut the wizard off as a bright silver net, glowing green around the edges, burst out of Newt’s wand and slammed into the wizard. It wrapped around him so quickly the wizard choked out a surprised noise before a particularly thick strand covered his mouth.

“Newt!”

Wand still raised in a defensive posture, Newt turned his head just enough to see Tina heading towards him at a run. Her eyes were wide with worry and there was a small cut on her face, just above her eyebrow, but otherwise she seemed fine.

Newt doubted their attackers had faired so well.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Newt said, smiling awkwardly at the witch as she slowed to a stop beside him.

“Did he try and cast an Unforgivable on you?” Tina asked, voice hard with anger as she looked at the restrained wizard.

Newt looked at the wizard, amused to note that he was barely standing. If the man tried to move a muscle he’d be making a painful introduction with the ground.

“Maybe.” Newt shrugged. He wanted to reassure Tina that he was fine, that he hadn’t really being in that much danger from the Killing Curse but… well, he doubted informing her that he had ample experience in avoiding it would reassure her in the slightest.

Thee had only been reassured after he’d gone with him for a week-long trip to Germany looking for some truly rare creatures found in the Rhineland region and witnessed him avoid every curse aimed at him by the poachers they’d come across.

“Maybe?” Tina looked at him, a sceptical expression on her face.

Newt shrugged, pulling a face as he did so. “I ah- I didn’t really give him the chance to finish the incantation so I can’t really say.”

Tina’s eyes narrowed. “Newt–” she began but was cut off by the sound of a half-dozen wizarding apparating in at almost the same time.

Spinning on her heel, Tina brought her wand up at the same time as Newt automatically cast a mass disarming charm.

“Valent!” Tina exclaimed in surprise, lowering her wand as she stared at the four Aurors stood in front of them, wandless. “You took your time!” She said, ignoring the looks of surprised suspicion the Auror’s were aiming at Newt who gave them an awkward smile in apology.

Valent scowled. “Oi,” he exclaimed, “we got here as fast as we could, Goldstein.”

“If four minutes is the quickest a team of trained Aurors can respond to a call from a colleague then I have more work to do with you all.” Graves voice cut in, silencing Tina and Valent as they glared at each other.

Newt’s eyebrow rose in surprise as he watched the Auror stride along the aisle towards them, several other Aurors behind him, dragging along the now restrained wizards who’d attacked them. Another Auror had the crate they’d discovered floating behind him, controlling it with his wand.

Graves had a bloodstain on the cuff of his right sleeve, standing out in bright contrast to the starched white material. His hair wasn’t as tidy as usual, though he’d obviously ran a hand through it to smooth it back down into some semblance of neatness. The look in his eyes was _thunderous_.

“Would someone like to explain to me why it took _four minutes_ for one of you to show up?” Graves bit out. His tone of voice easily conveyed that he expected – _demanded_ – an answer.

Valent grimaced.

Newt pitied him somewhat. The look on Mister Graves’s face was _not_ pleased.

“There was- we had-” Valent stammered, grimacing more at the stare Graves levelled on him. “Sorry sir, it won’t happen again, sir,” he finished lamely.

“See that it doesn’t.” Graves turned away from Valent who, surreptitiously breathed a sigh of relief, and looked at Tina and Newt. “Are either of you injured?”

Tina shook her head. “Just bruises for the most part, sir.”

Graves nodded, gaze focusing on Newt who shrugged, raising a hand to show the palm where small pinpricks of blood were visible. “Not severely,” he said with an awkward smile. “Just some splinters.”

Graves stared at him, eyes sharp as he looked Newt up-and-down with an assessing gaze. Newt didn’t move but the urge to fidget was strong enough that he tensed up, hissing suddenly at the spark of pain in his leg.

Right. He’d forgot about that splinter.

“That’s a bit big for a splinter, Mister Scamander,” Graves said dryly even though his eyes sparked with something dark and furious and a little bit concerned too.

Newt offered a tight smile, avoiding looking at any of the Aurors present, even Tina who put a hand on his shoulder in concern. “I suppose it wouldn’t reassure anyone if I said, ‘I’ve had worse’ now would it?”

Tina’s hand on his shoulder tightened. “Not really no,” she said. “You need to see a healer.”

Newt shook his head. “Oh no, no there’s no need for that,” he protested, glancing up at her. “It’s not that bad.”

“Let a healer be the judge of that, Mister Scamander.” Graves’s voice was final, thick with a tone that brokered absolutely no argument from anyone. He was a man used to being obeyed when he’d decided something.

Unfortunately for him, Newt wasn’t often in the habit of blind obedience.

“It’s a superficial injury, Mister Graves,” Newt stated firmly. “I’ve had worse from my creatures.”

“Your creatures aren’t in the habit of flinging dark curses around, Scamander, so I’m not overly concerned about your penchant for injuring yourself with your creatures,” Graves shot back.

Newt’s eyes snapped to Graves’s face, bright with surprise and annoyance at the Aurors words. “My injuries aren’t due to dark curses, Mister Graves,” Newt said softly, shifting his stance so subtly that none of the Aurors consciously noticed. “And my creatures are not in the habit of cruelty unlike humans, so the harm I’ve received in the past has seldom been their doing.”

They _did_ notice the change in his tone however.

“Irrelevant, Mister Scamander.” Graves’s gaze was locked with his own, dark eyes staring into bright blue with neither willing to look away first. “It’s standard procedure.”

Newt fought the urge to scowl in annoyance. Dropping any pretence of patience, Newt bit out in a clipped tone he rarely used, “if I recall correctly, your standard procedure also includes execution without sufficient trial, so forgive me if I’m reluctant to blindly adhere to it again.”

“Newt!” Tina snapped, staring at the magizoologist with a surprised expression on her face.

Newt reluctantly broke his staring contest with Graves, turning his head to look at his friend whose gaze softened slightly.

“I’m going to get checked myself, Newt,” she said gently, staring at Newt’s face intently. “You know Queenie will worry if we don’t both get treated by a healer and… well she doesn’t need that sort of worry right now does she?”

Newt’s gaze softened, body losing some of its tension as he accepted Tina’s blatant manipulation. He was well-aware that Queenie would worry about them regardless, but she’d be more distressed if he refused to let a healer treat him.

Oh, the things he did for friends.

Tina gave him a smile, eyes brighter and less clouded with concern. The Aurors snapped to action as the tension between their boss and the magizoologist bled away with Tina’s intervention.

The dark look in Graves’s eyes, however, remained.


	2. Al'Shalad has become my go-to for helping Percy remain sane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s been hurt enough, Percy,” Theseus said quietly, a sad look flitting across his face. “Don’t you add to that. Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two. Things be heating up!

Newt gladly fled the healer’s room the moment the mediwitch on call completed her assessment of his condition. She’d healed his leg and the abrasions on the palms of his hands with quick, efficient movements before ordering him to get a good night’s rest and to not strain himself. Having already determined that he wasn't in any life-threatening danger from his injuries, Newt had been perfectly happy to go along with Tina's insistence he be checked over if only to prevent Queenie from unnecessary worry.

It hadn't helped.

Queenie had been waiting for them both at the healers, informed by one of her colleagues – though Newt wasn't quite sure whether the information had been shared voluntarily or not – and looking ready to burst into panicked tears at any moment. The look of relief on her face at seeing both Tina and Newt walking unaided, if looking a little tired and worn, had been like a blow to the chest for the magizoologist.

Standing outside the room, waiting for the second mediwitch to finish checking Tina, Newt sat close to Queenie, offering her silent reassurance that they were fine.

“You're not staying with us tonight, are you?” Queenie’s voice was loud in the cavernous space of the hallway they were in.

Newt glanced at the natural legilimens beside him, a tired expression on his face. His shields were still in place but, much like the first time they'd met, Queenie was still able to pick up a sense of his thoughts because of her natural aptitude for mind magic.

Newt was also reluctant to forcibly block Queenie from his mind using more… direct methods than reactive shields.

Queenie looked at him, a sad smile on her face. “You're far too kind to me, sweetie,” she said, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. Her fingers grasped the fabric of his coat tightly.

“You and Tina are far too tolerant of myself and my creatures,” Newt replied just as quietly, his voice echoing softly in the hall.

Queenie made a dismissive noise, raising an eyebrow at him. “We're not tolerant enough of your creatures, Newt,” she said, a note of firmness to her voice.

Both were aware that Queenie wasn't speaking about her sister or herself. Newt smiled.

He placed a hand atop Queenie’s, gently grasping her delicate fingers and squeezing to show his gratitude for her words.

They sat in silence for a long moment, Queenie eventually letting go of Newt's coat sleeve and Newt moving his hand from atop Queenie’s.

“You'd better sneak away now before Teen gets out, otherwise she'll drag you back home and stun you to make sure you rest,” Queenie advised quietly, a mischievous look on her face as she turned to look at Newt.

Newt laughed. “She _would,_ wouldn't she,” he agreed, crinkles around his eyes as he grinned at Queenie.

Queenie nodded, smiling. “Best get out of here then, Mister Scamander.”

Newt nodded, standing up swiftly even as his body ached in exhaustion. “Yes, Miss Goldstein,” he quipped, giving Queenie a tired smile.

The expression on his face softened as he looked down at the witch he'd become such good friends with during such a trying time. “Goodnight Queenie,” he said, meeting Queenie’s eyes when she looked up at his face.

Queenie’s smile blossomed, bright and gentle and so very loving it made Newt’s entire being relax. “Goodnight Newt.”

Leaving Queenie to wait for her sister, Newt quietly made his way along the halls of magical section of the Beth Israel Medical Center.

The Muggle section was less… ostentatious compared to the magical section; something that magical communities across the Western hemisphere had in common. The Muggle section was simple, plain and understated; walls painted in whites and creams, doors clear wood with no engravings or precious metals embedded in them. In short, the Muggle section was far more palatable than the magical section; the latter reminiscent of the British Ministry with the deep green tiles lining the walls and the opulence, though that was where the physical similarity ended.

There were no golden statues, fountains or dozens of fireplaces for efficient communication and transportation. Instead there were silver-lined, dark wooden doors lining the hall, the ceiling at least fifteen-feet high, and portraits along the walls comprising of what Newt assumed were notable healers in American history.

There were several grates in the lobby of the hospital, but Newt by-passed them, preferring to step through into the Muggle section of the hospital and find a quiet alleyway to apparate from. He passed a young girl in a wheelchair being pushed by a matron, the girl looking tired but not unhappy. There was a large cast around her right leg and Newt felt a pang at the sight. A dose of Skele-Gro and she’d be up and about in no time, able to run about and play hopscotch or whatever it was children played nowadays.

Of course, the Statute prevented such action, even if it’d save a life.

Newt frowned, stepping out into the bustle of Manhattan in the early afternoon. The Statute was important for wizarding society in the West, he knew that – both objectively and personally – but having seen so many different cultures during his year travelling for the Ministry and the earlier travels he’d embarked on… Newt felt like just because it was easier for witches and wizards to hide and segregate themselves from Muggles, didn’t necessarily mean it was right.

Newt remembered what his Ministry’s position on the Great War had been; no interference by magical individuals at all. Had he and his brother not joined the dozens of British witches and wizards, alongside a variety of their European counterparts, Newt had no doubt that Europe would be a very different place to what it was.

Sometimes the Statute and the policy of non-interference was the wrong route to take.

 _‘What am I even thinking?’_ Newt frowned, moving along the sidewalk, stepping around Muggles who were walking slowly and dodging out of the way of those powering along. He spotted an alley about a hundred yards ahead of him and sped up, reaching it as quickly as he could. _‘I sound like one of Grindelwald’s damnable fanatics!’_

The Statute was needed, non-interference was the standard and best route. Sometimes, in extenuating circumstances, one or both may need to be questioned or discarded but Newt drew the line at any consideration that Grindelwald’s obsession with a Magical War was necessary, or inevitable.

He’d seen enough communities who lived peacefully, or co-existed with relative calm to have no respect or time for anyone who thought violence was the way to solve a problem. The only time it ever worked was if you had absolutely no other alternative.

Thee had said as such to Newt back after the Great War had ended. He’d been only days away from receiving an award for being such a prominent member of the war effort, but Newt had seen the… the pain and exhaustion in his brother’s gaze.

“Violence should _never_ be the first option, or the second, or third,” Thee had said, staring at his brother with a powerfully haunting look on his face. “It should be the absolute last, when every other avenue has failed and there’s no other recourse. And even then… even then it shouldn’t be done with abandon or enjoyment.”

“Some people like hurting other living things,” Newt had said quietly, knowingly.

“Don’t I know it,” Thee had spat out, a dark expression on his face. “They’re the worst people in war; the ones who enjoy it and want more opportunities to cause more pain and suffering.”

Newt hadn’t known how to respond to his brother’s observation, choosing instead to hand Thee a glass of Firewhiskey and help his brother get blind drunk as quickly as possible. The headache he’d had for three days after had been worth it.

 _‘No use thinking about it now,’_ Newt thought, _‘the past is in the past and there it should stay.’_

Turning on his heel sharply, Newt apparated from the alleyway not too far from Beth Israel Medical Center; a faint cracking noise the only evidence of his sudden disappearance for any curious Muggles to take note of.

 

* * *

 

“You don’t look too bad.” Theseus’ voice echoed from the bathroom as Newt closed the door to his hotel room.

“You can see through doors?” Newt asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“No, but I can see your reflection,” Thee replied, appearing in the doorway to the bathroom. “No broken bones?”

Newt shook his head. “Not this time no.”

Thee nodded. “Good.”

Ignoring his brother, Newt made a beeline for the kitchen, fully intending to drink what was left of the firewhiskey in the cupboard.

“Shouldn’t drink after seeing the healers, little brother.” Theseus leant against the bathroom doorframe, watching Newt with a sharp gaze.

“Didn’t get any potions, just basic _Episkey_ , so I’m fine,” Newt said, plucking a glass from the cupboard. Uncapping the bottle of firewhiskey, he poured a liberal amount into the glass.

“Wanna talk to me about it?”

Newt turned and fixed his brother with a look, eyebrow arched. Theseus held his gaze, not looking away from his brother even as Newt refused to blink for the longest time.

“It’s part of an ongoing investigation,” Newt said eventually, “I don’t believe I’m permitted to discuss it with non-MACUSA individuals.”

Theseus snorted. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Newt,” he said, “MACUSA policy is that they shouldn’t have civilians working on cases and going to potential crime scenes! That’s obviously not being followed here so cut the politics and _talk to me.”_

Newt looked away, breaking eye contact with Theseus who moved closer to his brother. “It was either pure coincidence or an attempted ambush,” Newt said eventually.

“I’m not quite sure which is most likely, but the crate was well-hidden so it’s possible it really was coincidence–” Newt lifted the glass to his lips, pausing as he stared at the countertop “–some attacked from behind, using the aisles as cover. I said I’d deal with those while Mister Graves and Tina handled the ones attacking us at the front.”

“You did a good job of it too,” Theseus commented softly. Newt hummed non-committedly. “You did. And you weren’t seriously injured either; there are some Aurors I’ve worked with who can’t say the same.”

“True.” Newt agreed, conceding his brother’s point. “Truthfully? It’s not the combat that’s bothering me. It’s what was in that crate.”

Newt tossed back the entire contents of his glass, savouring the burning sensation of the firewhiskey even as his chest demanded he cough at it.

“Why does the crate bother you so much?” Theseus asked, leaning against the countertop a few feet from Newt.

“Some of the items in there are very rare, or obscure enough in the Western hemisphere to be concerning,” Newt explained, depositing his glass on the countertop beside him. “I saw some ground up Griffin Claw in there alongside a variety of dried plants that are most common in Egypt and the Middle East. Other items in there are alien even to me, Thee, and _that's_ what I'm _really_ worried about.”

“You're not a potioneer, Newt,” Thee said, shifting against the doorframe.

Newt looked up at him.

“Magizoology may overlap with Potion Making, Newt,” Thee continued, “but they're not the same job. Just like a Hit-Wizard isn't the same as an Auror. Or a Herbologist isn't the same as a Potions Master. It's connected, but not the same.”

Newt shook his head. “I know, I know, it's just… my travels, Thee, they've given me a lot of opportunities to learn about things very few Western wizards even _dream_ exist. I've corresponded with several Potioneers in the past who haven't even heard of the possibility of using Lotus flowers in a potion, let alone that there are several types of Lotus; each with their own corresponding attributes.”

Newt sighed. “I'm concerned about the crate because of the contents I _could_ identify immediately, and the ones I _couldn't_. I don't know if they're all for the same potion, or different potions entirely. And it's _impossible_ to know for sure, unless the Auror's find anything out from the wizards who attacked us at the warehouse!”

Newt turned suddenly, leaning on the counter with his hands, shoulders hunching as he dropped his head and let out a long breath. Theseus watched him with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Frustrating, isn't it?” He said eventually, shifting against the doorframe.

“I think I prefer my creatures,” Newt muttered.

Thee laughed.

“I can understand the sentiment, Newt,” he said, smiling even as he sighed. “Still, investigations take time and require a lot of legwork. Patience is needed, even when the clock is ticking.”

Newt raised his head, turning it enough to look at his brother. “You're thinking about that London case, aren't you?”

Theseus gave Newt a tight smile.

“Always,” he quipped, standing up straight. “Come on, your creatures are missing you! Go let them check you're alive and well; _before_ we end up with a stampede in there!”

Newt watched silently as Thee turned and walked off into the lounge area making his way towards Newt's case, a sad look on his face. The London Case still bothered his brother, even five years on. It was a scar that'd never heal for Thee, just like Newt's failure to save Credence would never leave him.

Leaving the firewhiskey where it was, Newt left the kitchen, following his brother to his case. He had his creatures to focus on now, everything else could wait.

 

* * *

 

Percy stalked through his department, a dark look on his face that had his subordinates hurrying to avoid his gaze. What had happened at the warehouse that morning, and the subsequent slow response of his Aurors, had incensed him. The fact that Scamander had been injured, a civilian who was under Percy’s protection, enraged him almost past the point of reason.

It was sloppy, poor work and atrocious leadership on his part that his Aurors had been so slow and Scamander had had to help fight off their attackers. A civilian!

Grindelwald had a lot to answer for, but the current state of his department was all down to Percy. He'd been recovering from his ordeal as Grindelwald’s prisoner and it had left its mark on him; that much was plainly clear today.

He'd be sorting _that_ out soon enough.

Percy's priority now, however, was the five wizards that were down in holding – the only ones not requiring extensive treatment at Beth Israel. He had some questions for them and he wasn't leaving until he got answers.

If he put the fear of Morgana in them, _then so be it._

“How's Goldstein, sir?” One of the departments secretaries asked. Collins, if Percy recalled correctly.

“Alive and well, Collins,” Percy replied, pausing at Collins’ desk to give the secretary – _clerk_ – his full attention. “If you're so concerned about her, send her a pigeon.”

Collins, a twenty-something wizard, one of the new hires in the department, blushed all the way to the tips of his mousy hair. “Oh no, no, sir,” he stammered, shaking his head. “I was just concerned for Miss- uh- Auror Goldstein, sir, since she's not with you.”

Percy bit back on his amusement at Collins’ protesting, giving the young wizard a nod of understanding. “Concern for a colleague you respect,” he said mildly, fighting back an amused smile as Collins nodded vigorously. “Perfectly innocent.”

Collins nodded again. “Yes, sir, of course, sir,” he said, earnestly.

Percy stared unblinkingly at Collins, who seemed to tremble minutely under the head of the Auror Department’s stare. He'd apparently realised he'd spoken to Percy when he was on the proverbial warpath.

“She'll be back in tomorrow, healers ordered her to take the rest of the day off and her sister is making sure she does,” Percy eventually said, giving the young lad a reprieve from his staring.

“Oh, oh that's good, sir,” Collins said happily, staring up at Percy who arched a brow.

“Well,” Collins added, smiling nervously, “it's good that Auror's Goldstein’s sister is so good to look after her, I mean.”

Percy found Collins awkwardness over Goldstein to be… endearingly amusing. He wasn't a fan of his subordinates having office romances, but he also wasn't one of those bosses that refused to let them fraternise in any way whatsoever. They were all adults, so they could handle their own affairs; as long as they didn't cause problems in the office, he didn't much care.

“My suspects are in holding, correct?” Percy said, deciding that the subject matter needed changing. Collins nodded. “Anything about the ones in Beth Israel?”

Collins shuffled through the papers on his desk, reading a single sheet message from the healers. “Nothing much has been sent from the hospital yet, sir,” Collins answered, “personal belongings are being put into evidence after they were collected by an Auror on duty, and one of the suspects at Beth Israel is apparently being treated for severe hypothermia.”

Percy smirked internally, a spark in his eyes that had Collins pause when he looked up at Percy. “Uh…” Collins swallowed, looking back down at the paper. “That's all so far, sir.”

Percy nodded. “Keep me apprised of any news that comes from Beth Israel about the other suspects,” he ordered Collins who nodded eagerly. “And send a pigeon to Mister Scamander reminding him that he needs to come in to provide a statement.”

“Yes, sir!” Collins nodded, already reaching for his typewriter, wand on the desk beside it.

Percy nodded again. Turning away from Collins, he made his way efficiently through the rest of the department, noting how hardly anyone else seemed to want to gain his attention.

The suspects down in holding had been left to their own devices for the past hour, stewing in their thoughts and fears and doubts as Percy made sure Goldstein and Scamander were okay. Now it was time to terrify them.

Grindelwald hadn't had to pretend to be an asshole when impersonating Percy during interrogations, that much was certain. He'd earned a reputation early in his career as a terrifying interrogator; a reputation the Great War had only enhanced.

It was time to remind people of that fact.

 

* * *

 

“Percival! I wasn't expecting a call from you!” Al-Shalad exclaimed, face large in the clockface. He paused, frowning for a moment. “Was I?”

Percy shook his head. “No,” he confirmed, “but I have a case I think you may be able to help me with. If you're willing?”

“Anything for a colleague!” Al-Shalad grinned, showing white teeth that gleamed in the early evening sun in Cairo. The Egyptian became serious. “What do you need my friend?”

Percy breathed out silently. “I have a crate full of illegal substances that I believe are used for brewing. Some of the substances appear to be… Egyptian in origin,” Percy paused. “I don't think there are many plants that look quite like the Lotus Blossom, hmm?”

Al-Shalad nodded. “A sacred flower for my brethren here,” he said solemnly. “If they are truly Egyptian and are not ones that have been grown by herbologists in their greenhouses… this could be a problem.”

“A political minefield you mean,” Percy snorted, shaking his head. Al-Shalad nodded.

“What else was in this crate?” Al-Shalad asked eventually.

Percy leaned back against his desk, twisting his upper body so he could pluck a loose sheaf of paper from his desk. “From what could be identified at the scene by Scamander –” Al-Shalad made an impatient sound “–Griffin Horn, ground up extract. Common Lionfish Venom and Extract of Poppy –” Al-Shalad’s expression changed suddenly, his face moving closer in the clockface “–there were other items, but we had a disturbance in the warehouse that prevented further examination.”

Percy looked up from the paper, staring at the clockface. Al-Shalad’s expression wasn't reassuring.

“You have an idea about what these are used for?” Percy asked.

Al-Shalad hesitated visibly.

“Suspicions,” he said eventually, “nothing concrete, my friend.”

“Suspicions are more than I have, Al-Shalad,” Percy pointed out, “they may help point us in the right direction.”

“Or the wrong directly entirely.”

Percy nodded. “True,” he agreed, “but it's a risk I'm willing to take.”

Al-Shalad sighed. “Fair enough, Percival, fair enough.”

Al-Shalad move back from the clockface, his face shrinking to a more typical size for it as he considered his words. “There have long been rumours of ways that wizards can achieve great power and influence, immortality,” he began slowly, “Grindelwald is not the first to try and wage war on non-magicals, and I doubt he’ll be the last–” Percy nodded “–my country’s history is mixed; from the time of the Pharaohs to British rule, we have seen and done much. The High Wizards of Egypt are powerful, knowledgeable people and there have been rumours for centuries that they do not age, that they have lived since the time of Ramses the First.”

Percy’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but he didn’t interrupt Al-Shalad. He had a feeling that his colleague needed to get this all out in one go.

“I don’t know if I believe that myself, or if I’m just falling prey to the rumours, but… one of the few things every Egyptian wizard is taught from birth is that Lotus blossoms are sacred.” Al-Shalad paused, visibly hesitating as he stared at Percy through the clockface.

“I am aware of that, yes,” Percy said quietly, breaking the silence. He watched Al-Shalad as the Egyptian Auror let out a heavy breath.

“What do you know about Ancient Egyptian mythology?” Al-Shalad asked suddenly.

Percy frowned. “Honestly? Nothing.”

Al-Shalad sighed. “I thought as much,” he muttered, “gods forbid anyone learn about the history of one of the most powerful and influential cultures in all of human history, no, no; gods forbid.”

Percy bit back a smile at the grumbling tone. He had much the same tone whenever he came across something that none of his subordinates knew about; the universal tone of _‘why does no one else know this?’_ was pervasive and long-lasting.

“Al-Shalad,” Percy started, pausing for a moment as he waited for his colleague to settle. “Al-Shalad,” he repeated, “there was parchment in a container with the ingredients.”

Al-Shalad perked up. “Parchment?” he asked, curiously.

Percy nodded. “Or, as close we can determine,” he amended. “I’m somewhat tempted to go down to the National Museum and see if the No-Maj archaeologists may be able to figure out what it says.”

Al-Shalad hummed. “Hieroglyphics?” He asked, rolling his eyes at the blank look Percy gave him. “Little symbols of birds, jaggered lines and sometimes a stylised eye?”

Percy shifted, brows raising in surprise. “Yes,” he said, nodding, “exactly.”

Al-Shalad nodded. “Hieroglyphics, then.”

“Can you translate them?” Percy asked immediately, a hopeful note in his voice.

Al-Shalad stared at Percy through the clockface.

“Percival,” he began tolerantly, “just because I’m Egyptian does not mean I understand Ancient Hieroglyphics.”

Percy grimaced.

“I’m sorry–” Percy began, but Al-Shalad cut him off.

“However, it does mean that I may know someone who _can_ understand them.”

Percy blinked.

Al-Shalad laughed. “The expression on your face, my friend! As if I wouldn’t help you with this as best I can.”

Percy smiled. “I shouldn’t have assumed you’d know a dead language,” he admitted, a rueful expression on his face. “I can send you a copy of the parchment today?”

Al-Shalad nodded. “Official channels may be best for this, however,” he suggested, and Percy nodded. “I’ll try and have something for you in the next few days, by Friday at the latest, my friend.”

Percy nodded. “You have my thanks, Al-Shalad.”

 

                                                              * * *

                                                                 

“Al-Shalad came through for you, then,” Theseus said, leaning against the door of Percy’s office. It was late Friday afternoon, close to clocking-off time for the department.

Percy glanced up from his desk, an unimpressed look on his face as he took in the sight of the elder Scamander. “That’s classified information and I’m not at liberty to discuss it with non-MACUSA personnel,” he answered.

Theseus snorted. “Unless they happen to be my little brother, of course,” he deadpanned, smirking at Percy when he glared. “Newt’s already told me enough to figure out that you’d probably be needing an expert on potions ingredients at the least, but when Newt mentioned the Lotus blossom and Lionfish venom; well, it was obvious you’d probably speak to Al-Shalad about it.”

“Really?” Percy drawled.

Theseus shrugged. “I did the same last year when some idiot spelled a Mummy in the British Museum to chase the curator.”

Percy blinked.

“It was a case of spurned lover,” Theseus elaborated. “Halfblood who had his eye on a pretty Muggle girl, ended up getting arrested and charged with intent to harm a Muggle and lost that Muggle girl for good.”

“That is patently absurd,” Percy finally said, making Theseus grin. “And fine, yes, Al-Shalad knew an archaeologist who translated the _papyrus_ that was in the crate.”

“Papyrus?” Theseus shifted, no longer leaning against the door frame. He entered the room, flicking his hand behind him to shut the door, and sat down in one of the two seats for guests in front of Percy’s desk. “Magical or mundane papyrus?”

“Magical.”

Theseus’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m going to assume it’s neither a forgery nor a copy of a pre-existing papyrus,” he said eventually, frowning a little as he did so. “What do the contents refer to?”

“A potion, obviously,” Percy deadpanned, raising an unimpressed eyebrow when Theseus rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, Graves.”

Percy flicked a finger. “See for yourself,” he said as a sheaf of paper hovered in front of Theseus who snatched it out of the air quickly.

“Six ounces of ground-up Griffin Claw with the consistency of fine ash…Abtu scales –  what even _is_ an Abtu?” Theseus looked up at Percy briefly who shrugged. “A cluster of one dozen Arabian Nights flowers; I’m assuming that’d be Jasmine but good luck finding a cluster of twelve that will keep all its potency when dried,” he muttered. “The _eyes_ of a Hieracosphinx! What the hells- What even _is_ a Hieracosphinx? I’ve never heard of that type of creature.” Theseus paused. “Well, I hope it’s a creature.”

He looked at Percy. “ _Please_ tell me it’s a creature.”

Percy raised an eyebrow.

“According to Al-Shalad’s archaeologist friend, a Hieracosphinx is a type of Sphinx with the head of a hawk and body of a lion; purely fictitious, of course,” Percy drawled. “You know, it’s somewhat amusing that the son of an esteemed breeder doesn’t know of a very popular Egyptian beast; especially since Al-Shalad mentioned something about them being used as _mascots_ for the one of the major Quidditch teams in Egypt.”

Theseus looked up from the paper, glaring at Percy. “Low blow,” he said.

Percy smirked.

“You’re going to need to let Newt see this,” Theseus said, not looking away from Percy as his gaze shifted. “If anyone around here is going to know about any of these creatures – and some of these plants too probably – it’d be Newt.”

“I’ve already sent Goldstein over to his hotel room,” Percy replied.

Theseus nodded.

“Good,” he said, looking back down at the paper in his hands, an inscrutable look on his face.

Percy waited patiently. Having met Theseus Scamander during the war, Percy was well-acquainted with the elder Scamander brother’s inability to follow only one line of thought at any one time; something the younger brother seemed to have in common. It made Theseus a brilliant Auror, one of the best Percy had ever know in fact, and one heck of a duellist. It also made him prone to visiting people with more than one purpose in mind and the determination to seeing all those purposes completed.

Unbidden, the first time Percy had met the elder Scamander came to the forefront of his mind as he stared at Theseus standing in his office.

_Whatever town this was, and Percy was mostly certain it was a town not a village like last time, he had neither the skill with languages or the capacity to care what it was called right now. All it was to him was a collection of small houses, not dissimilar to some of the more picturesque places in America._

_Of course, the number of bodies and destroyed buildings destroyed any illusion that this was a peaceful place._

_Six months. He’d been going around the European countryside for six months now, and he’d seen dozens of similar scenes yet each one turned his stomach to such a degree he knew he wouldn’t be eating that night._

_Crouching down, Percy stared at the face of a young man, probably barely old enough to have been born in this century let alone to wear the uniform on his body. Sandy brown hair peaked out from beneath the skewed helmet. Eyes open, staring unseeing, empty of life. Body stiff with rigor and the cold of the early morning._

_“Just a babe,” Percy murmured, reaching out and shutting those empty eyes, giving the soldier who’d died far too young the respect he deserved, no matter what side he fought on._

_With a sigh, Percy drew his wand, casting a detection spell over the soldier’s body, eyes narrowing when a vivid green glow rose from the soldier, a perverse silhouette of the corpse._

_No shell had killed this soldier. Percy looked around at the dozens of corpses around him, a scowl settling on his face._

_He bet shells hadn’t killed_ any _of these people. These No-Maj._

_Percy rose silently, holding his wand in a white knuckled grip. With a series of quick flicks and twists, the bodies around him rose from the ground gently. Another series of flicks had the ground not ten feet away from him fall away from itself into a series of neat trenches._

_Graves._

_Swallowing at the dark irony of his name and what he was doing, Percy gently directed each of the corpses into a grave, taking great care to make sure they were all arranged neatly._

_It was only when he looked at the two dozen freshly made graves that he realised he should have conjured coffins for them._

_Eyes slipping shut briefly, Percy breathed out, shoulders slumping with the emotional toll the mass burial took._

_What was the point of it all? Of this violence? This hatred, that drove men and women to raise wands against non-magicals when the world was being torn asunder by shells? What reason could ever justify killing a child?_

No.

_Percy’s eyes snapped open._

_There was no damned reason to justify that! Not one single reason that he’d ever accept._

_War might be a terrible thing, and Percy might be in a line of work that often-involved violence, but gods all. Gods all, there would never be any justification for wanton slaughter like_ this _._

_The soft sound of apparition had Percy turning on a dime, wand already up, a spell forming even as he moved, only for it to die as suddenly as it’d begun when he realised that his unexpected guest wasn’t a threat._

_Dressed in the wizarding equivalent of the British army’s uniform complete with peaked cap in that sickly deep, moss green the British seemed to favour, the other wizard smiled at Percy._

_“Thanks for not finishing that curse,” he said, accent smooth with a gentle lilt that Percy couldn’t identify as being the traditional English accent he’d heard from No-Maj and British wizards during this long war. “Don’t think that’s exactly legal, but all’s fair in war and all that!”_

_Percy raised an eyebrow. ‘Not everything, Brit’ he thought. Out loud he said: “Who are you?”_

_The Brit’s smile grew as he began approaching Percy, casually striding across the uneven earth and rubble. “Name’s Scamander,” he answered. “Theseus Scamander, and you’ve got some shadows dogging your steps.”_

_Spinning on his heel, Percy fired off a quick succession of spells and curses, the light mixing into a kaleidoscopic display that was joined by peels of pale blue and deep indigo from the Brit behind him._

_It was quite that beautiful light display, minus the deadliness aspect of it all._

_Two wizards, hidden by Disillusionment Charms –and how had Scamander known they were there exactly, Percy wondered –and a third one nestled behind a half-destroyed garden wall were quickly dealt with, unable to defend against such a rapid barrage of spells from the two._

_“One more, house to the left!” Scamander called out, darting past Percy with a fierce expression on his face. “Another’s running; that one’s_ mine!”

_Percy broke into a run, scrambling across the uneven earth and piles of rubble, heading unerringly towards the building Scamander had haphazardly pointed at even as he darted past Percy._

_Scowling as his foot slipped on the rubble, Percy waved his wand in a single wide-sweeping arc. The rubble on the ground parted, colliding against itself as it was dragged back to provide Percy with a direct path to the house._

_A jet of electric blue light shot out from one of the upper windows of the house aimed directly at Percy. Throwing himself to the side, Percy scrambled to his feet, shoulders hunched as he barrelled towards the house, now only a few feet away._

_The door to what had once been a hallway hung on a single hinge, easily pushed aside by Percy’s arm as he darted through the doorway, beelining for the stairs that looked like they could collapse at any second._

_Casting a Featherlight Charm on himself, Percy avoided stepping on the stairs, levitating himself up to the landing of the half-destroyed house. Cancelling the charm with a flick of his wrist, he gripped his wand tighter in his dominant hand, moving carefully along the landing._

_There had been no tell-tale crack of disapparition – likely owing to Scamander casting an Anti-Apparition Jinx on the area, if Percy’s wandless magic was correct – and there was a lack of noise from rapid movement, telling Percy that his target was still in the house._

_“Stupefy!”_

_The door to the room, missing most of its wooden slats, blasted apart from the force of the stunner, splinters barely missing Percy as he raised an arm to protect his face from the splinters._

_Swinging his arm up and around, Percy snapped out a wordless spell, not bothering for accuracy as he threw himself through the door._

_A cut-off yelp and the sound of a body hitting the wooden floor just as Percy processed the room had him zoning in on the wizard propped against the wall beside the window, gripping his leg with trembling hands, wand forgotten on the ground beside him as deep red liquid soaked his pants-leg._

_“You cut my artery!” The man cried. Percy stared at him, unimpressed. “I’m dying!”_

_“Treat it then,” Percy said dryly. “But if you make a move for your wand, you’ll find you won’t be needing treatment for anything ever again,” he added, voice like poisonous smoke._

_A sound on the stairs had Percy spinning on his heel, wand at the ready, a wordless spell thrown at the doorway on instinct alone._

_“Bloody hell! And I thought I was nasty with a hex!”_

_“Scamander?” Percy lowered his wand slightly, keeping an eye on the downed wizard to his left. “You catch your target?”_

_Scamander’s head appeared in the doorway, a cut on his forehead bleeding sluggishly. The smile on the man’s face was not at all reassuring when coupled with the blood on his face, or the gleam in his eyes. “Yep! Well, part of him. He tried to apparate just outside the boundaries of the jinx, but miscalculated.”_

_Scamander stepped full into view, holding a wand and an–_

_“Is that an_ ear _?”_

_Scamander looked down at his hand. He looked up. “Yep.”_

_Percy blinked. “I don’t think I want to know.”_

_The man behind him let out a terrified whimper, still clutching his leg as he stared at Scamander in wide-eyed terror._

_“Oh fuck, I’m gonna die!” He squeaked, blinking rapidly, chest heaving._

_Percy glanced at the man, then back at Scamander who was still smiling._

_It wasn’t a nice smile._

_“There’s a rely point about six miles south of here,” Percy said, pointing his wand down at the injured wizard, stunning him in one swift move. “I presume you know how to make a Portkey?” Scamander just looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “Go make one; destination Aachen Cathedral. There’s a catacomb beneath the Cathedral, connects to the Prussian Ministry.”_

_Scamander blinked. “I didn’t know there was a catacomb beneath the Aachen Cathedral.”_

_Percy snorted. “Technically there isn’t,” he explained, crouching down beside the unconscious wizard. He poked the wound his spell had caused, the counter-jinx undoing the worst of the damage. “The catacomb is magically displaced; some sort of spell attempt gone-wrong back when the Romans tried to invade the natives here. Some very ambitious Roman wizard ended up magically transporting a portion of the catacombs beneath Rome to Aachen instead.” Percy looked at Scamander. “The most convenient entrance to the catacombs happens to be Aachen Cathedral and, over the centuries, various ministries of this region have made efforts to connect themselves to each other via the catacombs.”_

_“That is both incredibly fascinating and endlessly creepy,” Scamander said, plucking a long piece of wood, about the length of his forearm, from the ground and tapping it with his wand. “I’ll go round up the others then, shall I?” He said, hardly a question with the amount of polite sarcasm the words were laced with, but Percy nodded anyway._

_He watched Scamander disappear down the staircase, not a single whit of worry about the unstable staircase present in the way he carried himself._

_Percy couldn’t help but be impressed. Impressed and a little bit scared of Theseus Scamander._

_He wasn’t the sort of man to be crossed. But he was definitely the sort of man to befriend._

Blinking, Percy’s gaze refocused on Theseus, having unfocused slightly as he thought back on their first meeting. A world away from the introduction Percy had had to Newt…

Theseus was staring at Percy, something deep and dark in his eyes, making the grey in them become a stormy mix like a thunderstorm waiting to unleash its awesome power on the world.

“Theseus?”

“Don’t hurt him.” Theseus’s voice was quiet but there was a wealth of strength in it, a declaration of a promise behind the words as he stared at Percy.

“I–” Percy began, but Theseus cut him off.

“Just, don’t hurt him,” he repeated, carefully placing the paper in his hand on the desk as maintained eye-contact with Percy.

Percy stared, face as impassive as he could make it, as Theseus straightened up in front of his desk, still staring him in the eye.

“He’s been hurt enough, Percy,” Theseus said quietly, a sad look flitting across his face. “Don’t you add to that. Please.”

Then, without another word, Theseus turned on his heel and left the office, leaving Percy sat behind his desk, staring after the British wizard with a heavy look on his face.


	3. Potion making is no easy task, Percy. Have some patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not an expert in potion-making. I’m proficient but I have no idea how long this potion would take to create based on the ingredients alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three. Shorter than others, but just as good. Lots of plot here too!
> 
> [Imjz](http://imjz.tumblr.com) on tumblr has helped me out big time with all the potions stuff. I have a mediocre grasp of chemistry at best so their input has been _invaluable_

“How long would this potion even take to make?”

Newt’s eye twitched.

“It’s not that simple, Mister Graves,” Newt said, a thin note of force calm in his voice. They had been going over the notes Al-Shalad had provided them on the potion for the last two hours – Tina giving in to the late hour and scarpering home. “I’m not an expert in potion-making. I’m proficient but I have no idea how long this potion would take to create based on the ingredients alone.”

Percy scowled, shoving the parchment on his desk away. He leant back in his seat, a dark look on his face. “This is useless then!” He spat out. “What’s the point of looking at this list when none of us have any fucking idea what kind of time-frame we’re looking at?”

Newt sighed, shaking his head slightly. “I– I wouldn’t say that, exactly.” He shifted in his seat, the hard wood of the chair’s arm digging into his knee, but he refused to change his seating position fully. “We know that some of these ingredients require a full moon for being prepared,” he explained, “and that they cannot be treated to a preservation charm between being prepared and added to the potion. That gives us a basic timeframe of two weeks.”

Percy breathed out heavily. “Okay,” he said, more measured and calmer than his flight of irritation at their situation had made him momentarily. “So, two weeks. Anything else from those ingredients that can give us anything else?”

Newt hummed. “Well, from personal experience, I can attest to how difficult it is to get close enough to a Hieracosphinx long enough to pluck a feather, let alone–” Newt pursed his lips “–let alone obtain its eyes, nerves included. A deceased Hieracosphinx will decompose very quickly, the feathers release a toxic fume that is fatal to most living beings; not even a Bubble Head Charm can protect you. We don’t have any Hieracosphinx eyes in this crate so either an earlier shipment contained them, or there is another shipment waiting to be collected.”

“In which case, we may have time,” Percy finished, nodding his head. “Goldstein obtained a list of all incoming shipments for the next two weeks; only three of the ships calling into New York stop anywhere in the vicinity of Egypt.”

“Hieracosphinx eyes cannot be preserved for more than a week, a best,” Newt said. “The ship would have to have left port in Europe or Egypt. They can’t be held in a magically preserved container, nor can they be apparated or transported via portkey. They’re one of the few parts of a magical creature that are utterly required to be moved the long way.”

Percy frowned suddenly. “It takes more than a week to get from Egypt to New York, though.”

“Not necessarily,” Newt countered, looking up from the notebook in his lap, the thin lead pencil in his hand tapping the paper in a three-four beat. “Cruise liners tend to travel faster and can also contain cargo, depending on its passengers.”

“Would it need to be transported by foot though?” Percy asked, looking at Newt. “I know–” he held up a hand as Newt opened his mouth “–that you said they wouldn’t be able to put it in a magical container with a preservation charm on it, or use a portkey to move it. But, we both saw that charm on the crate in the warehouse. Is it possible they have a live Hieracosphinx in a similar situation, being transported? That would remove the necessity of getting the–” Percy grimaced “–raw materials here in less than a week.”

Newt’s expression hardened from surprise to a cold anger that showed only in the tightness of his lips and brightness of his eyes.

“That would solve the time issue, yes,” he nodded slowly. “Any transport of magical creatures to America is, I imagine, not something you would know much about; beyond shutting down smugglers and executing the animals, of course.”

Percy pursed his lips. “No,” he agreed neutrally. “It’s not.”

A knock on the door, unexpected, had Percy turning to face it fully, subconsciously shifting to partially block Newt from view.

“You have people still working at this hour?” Newt asked, surprised.

“Workaholics,” Percy replied, as though he wasn’t one himself. “Come in,” he called out to whoever was on the other side of the door.

The man whose head poked through the door looked to be relatively young and, Newt observed, supremely nervous.

Percy’s stance shifted, a fine line of tension in his shoulders releasing. “Collins.”

“Sir.” Collins stepped half-way through the door, partly hiding behind it as he extended an arm. “This came for you, sir.” In his hand was a sealed envelope, stamped with a Philadelphia postmark.

No-Maj post then. Unusual.

“No return address?” He glanced at the envelope as he took it from Collins.

Collins shook his head. “No sir. I didn’t even see it in your correspondence until just now. It was beneath the Stocks Case paperwork.”

“Brooklyn Bridge could be hidden beneath that disaster,” Percy muttered.

Newt coughed.

“Go home, Collins,” Percy ordered, giving Collins a firm look that had the young wizard nodding vigorously.

“Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir,” Collins said, glancing at Newt who gave him a polite smile. “Sirs.”

“Goodnight,” Newt replied, even as Collins ducked back out of the doorway, shutting the door with a near-silent click.

Percy looked down at the envelope, noting the neat writing on the front – obviously done with a dip pen rather than one of those Sheaffer’s fountain pens the No-Maj population were becoming quite attached to – and the way it slanted to the left instead of the right. Very unusual.

 Percy didn’t think he knew anyone who had such an unusual slant to their handwriting; he knew some who wrote backwards, one childhood neighbour who used to write upside-down, and one or two others who regularly wrote from right to left, but writing with a left-side slant… that wasn’t something he’d ever seen. His tutors had all insisted a right-side slant was _civilised_.

“Unwelcome correspondence?”

Percy blinked, half-turning to look at Newt who blinked at him in polite curiosity.

“Don’t know,” Percy replied, turning fully and moving to his desk. He plucked the letter-opener off its placemat, swiftly opening the envelope with a single stroke. “I don’t actually know anyone from Philadelphia.”

“Philadelphia is home to the American Potioneers Society,” Newt commented, looking back down at his notebook. “I know one of the Potions Masters on its board.”

“Really?” Percy looked at Scamander who nodded.

“Yes, he was looking for a rare ingredient not readily available for import because of various travel bans,” Newt said absently before looking up at Percy. “Oh, well.” He smiled. “It was a purely scientific venture and the ingredient is not at all dangerous; just volatile and very good at attracting Pixies.”

Percy sighed. “I really think it might be wise for me to abstain from asking you any further questions about your associations with people, if only to save myself the lengthy amount of paperwork your incarceration would certainly produce.”

Newt grimaced. “Ah,” he said, “yes, that uh– that would probably be wise, yes.”

Shaking his head at Scamander, Percy focused on the letter, unfolding creamy-white paper. There was a return address at the top, encircled with a thinly drawn gold-outline of a cauldron. A second sheaf of paper remained in the envelope. Percy dropped it on the desk in the envelope, focusing on the stamped letter.

Reading it aloud, Percy’s brow furrowed in confusion. Newt looked up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise.

 _“Auror Graves, my name is Arsalan Teiberg and I am writing to inform you of grave news. In the past two months alone, six of our members have disappeared from our roster. Normally, we would not be concerned with this, as it is not uncommon for potioneers such as ourselves to lose ourselves in our work, however, the APS has a method of ascertaining the state of all present members. The six members who have disappeared from our roster are marked on our system as_ non sunt huc _. Even our deceased members do not receive this label, Auror Graves. It is with the greatest concern that I inform you of this. I am unaware of any such potion that can result in such a marker, nor any spell or curse. Through third-parties best not revealed, the Society board has been informed of the potion your department is investigating as part of an on-going investigation. It is unknown to us however, we have enclosed the following information that our Society does have on the matter. Please be careful when handling the contents as they are protected—”_

A sharp cry cut Percy off and he looked up just in time to throw himself to the side, barely managing to avoid the hex aimed at him by a wide-eyed Scamander.

“What the fuck!” Percy exclaimed, pulling out his wand from his waistcoat, throwing up a shield between himself and Scamander.

_“Grindelwald!”_

Scamander’s eyes were wide, bright with panicked fear, but the magizoologist’s hand was steady as he threw another curse at Percy.

Biting back a curse of his own, Percy advanced towards Scamander, thankful that his shield held long enough for him to get within five feet of the other wizard. With a quick wandless gesture, the bookshelf behind Scamander collapsed suddenly, distracting the magizoologist just long enough for Percy to drop the shield charm and grab both of Scamander’s arms.

Percy was prepared for the sharp turn the magizoologist made, using the momentum to swing the wizard around, stepping forward and forcing Scamander back against his desk.

Scamander twisted in his grasp, trying to wriggle away from him, even as Percy maintained his grip, adding a touch of magic to it to strengthen his hold on Scamander.

“Scamander! Scamander!” Percy near-shouted. “ _Newt_!”

Scamander froze.

“I’m _not_ Grindelwald, I’m Percival Graves; the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement of the Magical Congress of the United States! I’m an only child. Both my parents are dead. I’m descended from one of Americas first twelve Aurors and I am not a Dark fucking wizard!” Percy said beseechingly.

“M- Mister Graves?”

“Yes.” Percy gave Newt a relieved smile, the smile falling away in concern a moment later. “Newt?”

Fine tremors beneath Percy’s hands alerted him to Scamander’s distress more readily than the magizoologist’s expression did. Percy stepped forward just in time to keep Newt upright, catching Scamander as his eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped like a sack of cement.

“All right, damn.” Percy turned his head enough to nod jerkily at a chair, the wooden legs scraping awkwardly on the polished floor towards him. Shuffling, Percy dragged Scamander’s prone form with him as he turned a half-circle, scuffing the magizoologist’s shoes on the floor as he did so but, honestly, he doubted Scamander would notice the new damage to the beaten and worn boots. Carefully lowering Scamander into the seat, Percy gently lifted Scamander’s arm from where it hung limply over the arm of the chair, placing it in the younger wizard’s lap.

“That’s one hell of a way to avoid things, Scamander.” Percy smiled softly.

Leaning over the magizoologist, hands on the arms of the chair supporting his weight, Percy found himself staring at Scamander’s lax features. The magizoologist was just shy of thirty, full of energy and life that made Percy feel old at thirty-nine.

The chaotic hairstyle, more often than not made all the more chaotic every time Scamander ran a hand through his hair when thinking about something, stuck up at odd angles; a ginger-auburn mix that reminded Percy of dried long grass in the summer, or the colour of barley at sunset. But still, while it looked like a bird had tried to nest in it recently – and, to be fair, one probably had knowing Scamander – the bangs that lay across Scamander’s brow held a soft wave to them, not quite curled but not straight either.

It suited him.

Scamander’s face lacked a tension and alertness, Percy had never quite noticed the man felt every waking moment – somehow, he doubted Scamander lost much of either in sleep, only unconsciousness tended to rob a person of habits built on a lifetimes worth of danger and risk around every corner.

Percy reached out with his dominant hand, hesitating for a moment before he brushed hair away from Scamander’s face. His fingers traced lightly along the younger wizard’s brow, brushing against his temple before Percy reluctantly withdrew his hand.

He had no right to touch Scamander in such an affectionate manner. Not when his very presence still caused Scamander distress.

Percy was no fool; though Scamander had done an admirable job of fighting down his instincts, first impressions often are the most powerful and dictate perception of a person for a long, long time. Scamander hadn’t even met the real him thanks to Grindelwald, but the man who wore his face for so long had left a permanent impression on the magizoologist.

An impression that bore marks on Scamander’s skin, even if he tried his best to hide them from view.

Percy recognised electrical burns when he saw them, especially untreated burns left to heal naturally.

It may not have been Percy himself who had inflicted those scars on Scamander, but it had been his face and his wand, the visage of his body and will entwined with that of Grindelwald’s. Percy bore responsibility for those marks regardless of whether it was he who made them or not; and Scamander’s reaction drove that fact home _hard_.

Sighing dejectedly, Percy withdrew from Scamander’s space, straightening up from leaning over the chair, and waved his hand at the fireplace in his office. The flames that had been slowly dying flared to life again, a neon green shade that mixed with the light from the wall and ceiling lights of warm yellow to become a strange, moss-green.

Picking up a pen from his desk, Percy scribbled down a note on a spare sheet of paper, folded it in half and tossed it at the flames, calling out as he did so: “To Theseus Scamander.”

Dropping down heavily into his own chair behind his desk, Percy rested his head on his arms folded on the desktop. The elder Scamander would arrive soon enough, hastened by the missive Percy sent, to collect his unconscious brother. Percy just hoped the other Auror wouldn’t try and take his head off for letting his brother be caught in a mind-altering spell and passing-out as a result.

 

* * *

 

Newt’s eyes snapped out, wand flying into his hand from across the room, as he bolted upright.

“ _Finally_.” Theseus Scamander sat upright in the chair he’d dragged in next to his brother’s bed. “I thought you’d be sleeping for ages, yet.”

Newt blinked, staring at his brother. His mind felt confused, sluggish, not as alert as it usually was. He found he greatly disliked the feeling. “What happened?”

“Give yourself a few minutes, it’ll come to you.” Theseus leaned forward, holding a cup of tea out to his brother who took it from him.

Sipping the tea – reheated judging by the lack of flavour to it – Newt let his mind slowly catch up with consciousness, leaving his wand in his lap to hold the cup in both hands. The first thing that came back was where he was – in his hotel room in New York – and why he was in America in the first place – visiting friends and being roped into a case.

“I was researching something,” Newt said slowly, brow furrowing slightly as he tried to focus. “I know it was important and– ugh, why can’t I remember? What is wrong with me?”

“You were hit by a protective curse,” Theseus answered solemnly. “One that messed with your head and perception. The lingering exhaustion and fogginess will clear up by lunch.” He paused. “Probably.”

Newt stared at him. “Probably?”

Theseus nodded. “If it doesn’t, then I’m dragging you to the Israel Medical Center, whining be damned.”

The Israel Medical Center? Hadn’t he already–

“Oh,” Newt breathed out. “The Potioneers letter.” He scowled. “I’m going to absolutely murder them.”

Theseus laughed. “So bloodthirsty when people make you faint, whatever would people think if they heard you say such a thing, dear brother?”

Newt glared at him. “I nearly attacked Mister Graves, Thee. There’s nothing funny about this,” he growled. “I could have seriously hurt him.”

Theseus looked at Newt, a measured look on his face. “You didn’t.”

“But I _could_ have,” Newt insisted. “I… I thought he was Gellert,” he admitted quietly, looking down at the cup he held in his lap. “I have enough problems knowing that Gellert’s interested in me, I really didn’t need to be reminded of what he did in the subway.”

“You had a panic attack?” Theseus asked gently.

Newt laughed bitterly. “I didn’t even have enough time to forget how to breathe before I checked out, does that still class as a panic attack?”

Theseus nodded. “Yes.”

Newt’s lips twisted into a sarcastic smile. “Guess I had a panic attack then. Not a big surprise there, is it?”

“Stop. Right. There.” Theseus bit out. Newt looked at him. “You are not what other people say you are, Newt. Don’t you dare demean yourself and everything you’ve survived when we both know less than a handful of people who could manage to live through everything you’ve seen, done and experienced. Especially considering that you’re so damned kind and functional when most of the wizards we knew during the war have cracked!”

Theseus sighed.

“You’re not alone in having panic attacks, Newt,” Theseus said softly. Newt’s brows drew together. “I used to have them a lot after I found all those kids… I’d keep seeing their faces, hearing them scream and cry out for help and I couldn’t do _anything_!” Theseus scrubbed at his eyes furiously. “The nightmares were bad enough, but whenever I came across anything that even remotely reminded me, or could end up the same way, I’d… well, I used to freak out. Freeze up. Not move.”

“You never told me,” Newt said quietly, honestly surprised. Theseus had told him he’d had nightmares, yes, but panic attacks? No, he’d never mentioned those.

“I was ashamed of it,” Theseus admitted bluntly, looking at Newt with a glimmer of faint humour in his eyes. “You used to look up to me – the big brother who was brave and tough and who everyone loved. I didn’t want you – didn’t want other _people_ – to look at me like I was broken.”

“Thee…” Newt breathed.

“Forget it.” Theseus snorted out a laugh. “It’s in the past. I haven’t had one in two years, but they take time to stop.”

“And if they don’t stop?”

Theseus shrugged. “Then you learn to live with them, like you learn to live with everything else. It’s either that or you give up, and brother, you are _not_ the type to give up. But even if you did, I’d still be here for you, because you’re my brother and I love you and I will literally fight an army to protect you.”

Newt gave his brother a small, but genuine smile. “And I’d do the same for you,” he promised, grinning suddenly. “I’m a Hufflepuff after all.”

 

* * *

 

“Do we have anything about the type of cauldron this potion has to be brewed in?” Theseus asked, looking around the table at everyone. Tina, Newt, and Graves were seated around the table, Graves and Newt as far from each other as physically possible without leaving the commandeered conference room entirely, while Tina was sat next to Theseus.

Tina shrugged. “Not really. There’s some symbols on the papyrus, alchemical I think. They might give us a clue,” she answered, shuffling through the pile of papers she had in front of her, plucking one single sheet out of the pile and holding it out to Theseus.

Theseus frowned. “I’m– that doesn’t– Newt?” Newt looked at Theseus. “When was Platinum discovered?”

Newt shrugged. “It wasn’t really,” he said. “Platinum was used by the Aztecs and Mayans, couple of others too, across South America long before Europeans decided to go looking for more land to call their own and people to enslave and murder.” Graves and Tina stared at Newt.

Leaning back in his seat, Newt tilted his head up, eyes wandering over the ceiling, avoiding the bright electric lighting above the table. “I do know that some Muggle scientist ‘discovered’ that the platinum used by the Aztecs was a compound, not a pure metal. Named the other metal he discovered Iridium, I believe. Why?”

Theseus held the sheet out to Newt who summoned it to himself with a flick of his fingers, the length of the table too great for him to lean forward and take it from his brother. Scanning the paper, Newt’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Well then,” he said slowly. “Do you know of anyone who happens to have a very large, very expensive platinum cauldron, Mister Graves?”

Graves frowned. “Platinum?”

Theseus nodded. “Platinum is a popular metal with Muggles,” he explained. “It’s stronger than gold and silver, looks a lot prettier too, and is extremely heat resistant, non-corrosive and a great conductor of electricity compared to most metals. It’s probably the best type of metal to ever have a cauldron made out of really.”

“Brass and pewter cauldrons are most popular because they’re cheap, but pewter has a relatively low melting point, and brass isn’t all that strong. Bronze is stronger than brass, but it’s also less conductive and heat resistant. Pewter cauldrons are still very popular in Egypt and the near East however, because of its conductivity and the fact that most Egyptian-made pewter cauldrons contain traces of silver which is good for brewing medicinal potions.” Newt cut in.

Tina looked between the two Scamanders. “You make it sound like this platinum is a No-Maj thing?”

Theseus hummed, non-committedly. “It probably is; at least, here in America probably. In Europe it’s sort of known, but not common knowledge.”

“Niche market interest.” Newt pulled a face. “Unfortunate, but not surprising.”

“If it’s not common in our community here, then is it possible that whoever is trying to brew this potion is a half-blood?” Graves asked, looking at Theseus.

Newt’s shoulders tensed imperceptibly before smoothing out again. “Probably, but again, working on assumption that they’re American. They could be from South America, or anywhere else in the world and simply chose New York as the best place to brew the potion.”

“Why would they choose New York with its ban on magical beasts, ingredients from magical beasts, and requirements for wand permits?” Graves shot back.

Newt opened his mouth to retort before freezing, eyes lighting up.

“Newt?” Theseus asked, glancing at his brother and Graves.

“Wand permits,” he breathed out.

“What about them?” Theseus stared at his brother. “You delirious, brother?”

Newt ignored him. “Tina! You worked in the Wand Permit Office, right?” Tina nodded slowly. “Did you have any sort of way of telling if anyone entered New York from overseas who hadn’t applied for a permit?”

Tina’s eyes lit up. She smiled. “Yes. Yes. It doesn’t give you anything other than a description of the wand and a location, usually a few minutes delayed, but it does,” she paused. “But… it was damaged… back when… Grindelwald.”

Graves’s lips tightened. “Has it been repaired?” He demanded, scowling when Tina shook her head. “Of course not.”

“How long would it take to repair?” Theseus jumped in, preventing Graves from cursing further.

Tina shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. It’s delicate, that’s all I know.”

Graves stood up. “I’ll go inform Picquery that it needs repairing _immediately_ if she ever wants this damned case solved,” he declared. “Keep working on this. I’ll be back shortly.”

Theseus blinked at the door of the conference room. “Bye then,” he quipped making Tina snort. “How polite of him.”

“’Polite’ is not a term often applied to Mister Graves,” Tina said, smiling laughingly.

Theseus nodded. “Nope. ‘Arse,’ ‘bastard,’ ‘prick,’ – now _those_ are words often applied to Graves; usually by me.”

“Not just you.” Newt ignored the looks Theseus and Tina gave him, making a note on the parchment to his left. “Why is ‘anoxia’ written twice, for two ingredients and with differing forms of measure?”

Theseus frowned briefly, eying his brother closely even as he picked up his own copy of the ingredients. “Not sure. What does ‘anoxia’ mean?”

“Water that doesn’t have any oxygen in it.” Newt and Theseus both looked at Tina in surprise. She shrugged. “What? Queenie learns the oddest things and tells me anything she thinks is interesting.”

“You can’t crush water though,” Theseus pointed out, looking between the other two. “Different things, then?”

Newt nodded slowly. “When researching Egyptian magical creatures, I came across six different species of scarab beetle, one of which was called the Anoxia Beetle.”

Tina looked at her own copy of the ingredients. “What are the chances that whoever is trying to make this noticed the difference?”

Newt smirked. “Considering how rare Anoxia Beetles are, and how much work it took for me to gain enough trust of the priests that guard the temple they’re found in…”

“Probably not that high then,” Theseus finished, grinning. “Well then, should be fun to see who tries to put liquid ‘gold’ in their cauldron full of water to see how long their set-up _doesn’t_ last.”

At Tina’s confused look, Newt explained, “there’s no such thing as liquid gold unless it’s heated, obviously,” –Tina nodded– “but that would make it useless unless the temperature was high enough to keep it in its molten state–”

“Which this potion doesn’t,” Theseus cut in.

“–so that means the list must refer to some other type of metal. One of which is a liquid at a much lower temperature, likely room temperature since there’s nothing in the potion’s details which suggests the metal is heated prior to being added to the potion.” Newt grinned sharply. “One of the only metals I know of, one I learnt about from a Muggle scientist in Germany in fact, is Caesium.”

“Caesium?” Tina repeated, curious.

“Caesium is one of a group of metals that really doesn’t agree with water,” Theseus answered brightly. “When whoever our mysterious potion-maker is adds it to their cauldron with anoxic water that _finally_ has access to some air–”

“–we’ll probably hear the explosion from a mile away?” Tina guessed, a smile growing on her face.

Theseus laughed.

“The amount of alkaline and acidic ingredients this potion has, and the fact it wants _two_ primary feathers from a Snidget too? Oh, _most_ _definitely_.” Newt laughed. “And whoever has attempted to create this potion, likely mistaking Anoxia Beetles for anoxia water, won’t even be able to depend on any shields to protect them thanks to the inclusion of Lionfish spines to the potion.”

“Why not?” Tina asked and even Theseus looked intrigued by this revelation.

“Because Lionfish spines contain a potent toxin, especially when they’ve had prolonged magical exposure – like the Lionfish in the Nile near Thebes have for generations. The toxin in a single spine is strong enough to eat through a _protego_ cast by most people, but _twelve_ of them?” Newt shrugged. “There may not be a house standing after the explosion.”

Tina stared at Newt. “Seriously?”

He nodded, smiling awkwardly as he realised his words had caused her some concern. “Lionfish toxin is fast-acting and short-lived when it’s been exposed to magic however, something to do with the toxin’s reactivity to specific stimuli,” Newt reassured. “It won’t do further damage, and anyone who is caught by it – and isn’t at the centre of the explosion – can easily be treated with Dittany.”

“Even No-Maj?” Graves’s voice cut in. Theseus, Tina and Newt all looked at the door to the conference room in surprise. They hadn’t heard him.

Newt stared at Graves who stared right back at him. “Yes,” Newt said eventually. “They’re actually easier to treat; Dittany is required for any magical individual.”

Stood behind Graves was the head of MACUSA. Picquery quirked a brow. “You know this for certain, Mister Scamander?”

Newt nodded. “Ah– yes, Madam President. Personally.”

Theseus scowled. “You never told mother _that_ in your letters.”

Newt looked at him. “That’s because I like _leaving_ the house every Christmas,” he shot back.

“Fascinating as that may be,” Picquery cut in and both Scamander’s looked away in embarrassment. “There is still the matter of determining who it is who is behind this illegal import.” She turned to look at Graves. “The Locator in the Permit Office will be repaired by the end of the work day, I suggest you make use of it as soon as it is functional.”

Graves nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well,” Picquery said, glancing back at the three around the table. “Good work.” And with that she was gone, sweeping out of the room, robes flowing behind her in an ethereal manner that reminded Newt of the way Veela hair floated in the air whenever they moved.

“That woman is terrifying.” Theseus looked at Newt. “I like her.”

Newt rolled his eyes. Tina snorted out a laugh. “She’d eat you alive, Thee,” Newt told his brother firmly, making Theseus grin impishly.

“Who’s to say I wouldn’t enjoy that?” He shot back. “I’d die a happy man.”

“Seraphina is married, Theseus,” Graves cut in, giving Theseus a quelling look. “Her wife is a lovely woman who will hex you into oblivion if you try and flirt with Seraphina.”

Theseus snapped his fingers. “Damn,” he said, mock displeased. “It’s always the way.”

Graves rolled his eyes. “Just get on with the research you’re not even meant to be doing, Scamander,” he ordered, sitting back down at the table. “We’ve still got other leads to work on, not just the ingredients, but potential sellers and buyers of whatever potion this thing is.”

Tina sighed. “I hope we’re getting overtime for this, sir,” she said, “Queenie is going to be awfully annoyed with me for staying late to work on this.”

“Your sister will forgive you, Goldstein.” Graves looked at the other MACUSA Auror. “She understands the job and I’d have her in my department in a heartbeat if she’d just ask.”

Tina flashed Graves an amused smile tinged with surprise. “Really. sir?”

Graves nodded. “You and her together as a team would be terrifying enough, half the criminal element would retire within six months of you two pairing up together on cases.” He smiled suddenly. “Probably put me out of a job, but it’d be worth it to see the crime rate go down.”

The smile Tina gave him positively _glowed_.


	4. Maya keeps Seraphina sane, Tina is a (rightful) worrier, and Newt is a trouble-magnet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I hope you're decent, Mister Scamander!” Tina called out sweetly. "If you're not, I'll snitch on you to Queenie and let her give you that disappointed expression she gets when she's upset!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is much later than I'd planned but hey! You get almost 8k to read in one go! That's good right!

Seraphina leaned back in her chair after signing off on the last piece of paperwork she had for the day. It was just past nine in the evening, later than usual for paperwork to keep her in the office, but not quite as bad as the week she’d had last year when she’d given up going home; the sofa in the corner of her office was perfect for transfiguring into a bed for the night, and a refreshing charm on her robes was more than enough to keep up appearances.

But she didn’t have to do that this time. This evening she could go home and sleep in her own bed. Sleep beside the wife that had been by her side for years now, through all the chaos and trials she’d faced just to get to this position. Maya was a patient soul, the perfect counter to Seraphina’s more flammable nature.

Not that Maya was a pushover, oh Morgana no! Seraphina had fallen for Maya when she’d witnessed the other woman absolutely  _ruining_ the ego of a man who wouldn’t take the hint and  _go away_. Seraphina had a weakness for that sort of efficient destruction of nitwits that Maya excelled at when pushed.

Leaving the office to be cleaned by the cleaners, though she made certain it wasn’t in too extreme a state of disarray, Seraphina made her way to the elevator, nodding to the goblin manning it on the evening-shift. He was a well-mannered goblin, a far cry from some that Seraphina had met when she’d travelled to Europe over the years for annual ICW meetings. An absolute drag at the best of times, the year that one of the delegates representing British interests had complained about goblins running their banking system had been absolute chaos.

Seraphina had been firmly on the side of the goblins; unfairly vilified for their narrow position in the magical community of Europe and its colonial territories. The discrimination and rampant anti-being sentiment in European wizards had lit a fire that Seraphina had been perfectly happy to fan the flames of. Prominent goblin families had emigrated to America within six months of that disastrous conference, bringing with them generations-worth of expertise, magic and abilities that Seraphina had been more than willing to work with.

The fact that her approval ratings had increased dramatically among the half-breed communities as well as the pureblood contingents had been a welcome advantage, but it hadn’t been her sole motivation. America benefitted from goblins and their financial skills, not to mention their smithing abilities, and that meant improved conditions for witches and wizards in New York and other major magical communities across the country. Some still refused MACUSA involvement – mainly those who lived on the reservations, and quite a number in New Orleans – but Seraphina’s influence was growing. In time, MACUSA would become the dominant magical government in America, whether it was through force or the absorption of other smaller communal governments was dependent on the perception of MACUSA as either a legitimate rule or an aggressive attacker.

Seraphina much preferred subtly to outright belligerence. She’d do what she could to make the eventual transition of power to MACUSA as peaceful as possible, and that meant public support was key.

Whether it would last however, depended greatly on the latest case that she was barely managing to keep from the press. Graves and his department – as well as the brothers Scamander – needed to give her results fast, before the story was eventually dragged to light. She couldn’t afford another danger to her position, not when the Grindelwald Scandal was still so fresh in everyone’s minds.

Everything depended on it.

And yet, somehow, Seraphina had a bad feeling about this case. Her grandmother’s talents may have skipped her mother, and Seraphina too for the most part, but sometimes… sometimes the feelings – they warned her of things to come. And they were  _always_ bad things to come.

It settled in the pit of her stomach more and more firmly the longer the case went on, the more Graves and his team worked on their leads and their clues, the longer the magizoologist was involved. Something warned her to be wary, watchful, alert.

“Darling?” Seraphina blinked, surprised that she was home. So caught up in her thoughts she had apparated the moment her feet had touched unjinxed ground. “Seraphina, are you all right?”

Seraphina smiled at her wife. “Just tired.” Maya didn’t look convinced. “There’s been some development in one of the cases I’ve been watching closely.”

Maya tilted her head, curious. “The one, Mister Graves is in charge of personally?” She asked, blue eyes wide with surprise when Seraphina nodded. “Oh,” she said, “that’s a good thing, is it not?”

Maya’s skin was a shade or two lighter than Seraphina’s own, her dark hair a beautiful match, spilling over her shoulders in gentle tresses in a way Seraphina adored and secretly envied. But those blue eyes of Maya’s, so unusually bright and emotive, spoke of a family history that still eluded Seraphina.

The power Maya wielded over water – treating it as though it were alive and able to feel when few others did – was reflected in the watery depths of her gaze. Something far more otherworldly resided deep in her wife, Seraphina knew, but it was something that called to her and soothed her fiery nature just as serenely as Maya’s touch leached the tension from her body from long hours playing politics.

“It is,” Seraphina replied, leaning into Maya’s embrace as the other woman reached out to her. “Some issues with resources and personnel, that’s all. Tediousness to the extreme, the paperwork.”

Maya smiled softly. “I wouldn’t know, I refuse to even contemplate paperwork for any of my work,” she quipped.

“You, my dear,  _paint_ ,” Seraphina laughed. “I envy that fact more and more every day.”

“You love your job, Sera.” Maya pressed a kiss to Seraphina’s lips, smiling as she did so. “Even if you do want to hex fools into oblivion from time to time,” she added, smile growing when Seraphina laughed.

“True,” she agreed, “very true.”

“Dinner?” Maya asked after a moment. Seraphina looked at her wife, less than inch difference between their heights. “I had Effy make one of your favourites.”

A lazy smile grew on Seraphina’s face. “I’d rather we ate  _later_ , love.”

Maya’s eyes glowed as she smiled back at her wife. “Oh,” she breathed, “oh, we can  _definitely_ do that.”

 

*** * ***

 

Newt shut the door to his hotel apartment with a sigh of relief. Evening had fallen, bringing with it the sharp shadows of the ever-encroaching autumn months, and the city had lit up with artificial lights made by Muggles to combat their terror of the darkness. While wizards had had access to external light sources far more reliable than mere campfires and candles long before the so-called Dark Ages, Muggles had not been so fortunate. With the relatively recent discovery of electricity and the mass movement to encourage its usage on both sides of the Atlantic, the fear Muggles held of the dark steadily decreased.

Far more people that Newt was comfortable with moved about in the evening hours in New York. It went against natural instincts, against the evolutionary development of animals like humans. To be active in the night as well as the day. Efficient for hunters and predators, yes, but still Newt wondered if it was a good thing for humans to have evolved. Darkness held unknown dangers and the instinctive desire to drive that darkness away motivated many, both in the metaphorical and actual sense; Thee was an example of the former, Muggles and their rapid technological developments an example of the latter.

Dropping his coat over the back of one of the armchairs, Newt undid his bowtie, letting it hang about his neck as he wound his way through the hotel apartment to the kitchen where he poured himself a drink. A rare indulgence when he was alone, but one he felt he deserved after the day he'd had. Enduring Percival Graves was not an enjoyable venture in the slightest, most especially when he still felt the nervous flitter of anxiety-ridden wings stir at the sight of the Auror.

It wasn't Mister Graves’s fault, it wasn't even Newt's, but that didn't change the response. And it certainly didn't change the realisation of how he felt about the wizard; truly, it just made it worse. It was almost as though Newt had feelings for the twin of a man who'd tried to kill him, who'd tortured him and made him a wanted man, who'd threatened his creatures.

In short, it was absolutely absurd. So why couldn't he just let it rest?

Newt knocked back the shot of firewhiskey, not even bothering to savour the literal burn of the liquor. His mind was too busy thinking to notice if anything was off about the taste of it. Percival Graves demanded a lot of his attention-span, more than some of his most unruly creatures; the Niffler included.

Picking up the bottle in his free hand, Newt poured himself a second shot, heading towards his bed as he did so. He'd checked his creatures back at MACUSA with Tina's assistance and none of them required his attention until morning, so indulging in a second shot was of no lasting consequence. His mind needed to shut down for a few hours and if the firewhiskey helped? Well, there were worse things that he could drink compared to a few shots of liquor—the sleeping draught he'd been taught to brew in Săo Paulo was probably one of the most disgusting potions he'd ever had the privilege of sampling, and he'd much rather drink a vat of distilled, boiled beetle dung instead of that draught ever again.

Dropping down onto his bed, Newt lazily let go of the bottle, flicking a finger in the direction of the bedside cabinet. The bottle bobbed unevenly in the air as Newt levitated it, landing with an audible thud on the cabinet, wobbling precariously for a moment before settling. Newt, staring down at his glass, didn't notice. Bringing the glass up to his lips, Newt frowned in confusion as the glass slipped from his fingers, hand feeling numb and disconnected, as though it wasn't his own. He blinked stupidly.

“Wha–” His voice was thick, words slurred, as his vision distorted, acting like he was on the deck of a ship in a storm, uneven and constantly changing depth. “Thee…”

The window in his bedroom slid open soundlessly, a black-clothed figure climbed through and Newt blinked tiredly at them, unable to comprehend what was happening even as his body tensed weakly; instinctively aware of the danger he was in and trying to do its best to aid him.

“You're a stubborn one, Scamander.” A deep voice echoed in the bedroom, bouncing around and off the walls, confusing Newt. It felt like the voice was everywhere, all around him, like there were dozens in the room speaking to him even though he could only see one person through barely open eyes. “I hope you're as smart as you are stubborn, for your sake.”

The last thing Newt experienced before he fell into the darkness was the touch of a gloved hand, soft leather touching his face. It felt almost like he was being admired. Somewhere in his mind, Newt knew that wasn't a good thing, but darkness beckoned, and thinking was just  _so hard_. Easier to just fall into that blank embrace. Much, much… Easier… Yes…

 

*** * ***

 

Tina knocked on Newt’s door again, brows furrowed in irritation at how tardy her friend was. It was almost nine o’clock!

“Newt!” Tina banged on the door again, knuckles rapping on the wood sharply. “I swear to Morgana, Newt! You better  _not_  be in that case still!” She muttered darkly, pulling out her wand and unlocking the door, belatedly realising she should have done that seconds after arriving. Newt had added additional protections to his hotel door, making it dangerous to anyone whose wand wasn’t recognised by the protections; although, he hadn’t actually told her what those protections  _actually_   _were_ , instead mumbling awkwardly and distracting her with a new-born creature to ogle at.

“I hope you're decent, Mister Scamander!” Tina called out sweetly as she swung the door to the hotel apartment open. “If you're not, I'll snitch on you to Queenie and let her give you that disappointed expression she gets when she's upset!”

Tina glanced into the kitchen, noting how there seemed to be no dishes in the rack, through several were in the sink – including a baby bottle with some sort of silvery liquid in it – and a large ring mark on the mostly clear counter-tops, the sort a large mug or bottle might make. She spotted Newt's trademark coat thrown over the back of the armchair nearest the kitchen, although there was no sign of Pickett.

“Newt?” Tina called out, feeling curiously concerned for her friend. Could he still be in his case? Was one of his beasts unwell? Possibly.

Tina cautiously pushed the door to the hotel apartments bedroom open from its ajar position, eyes scanning over the scene, taking it in, processing it even as she blinked in confusion.

The bed was empty, a half full bottle of some sort of amber liquid that Tina desperately hoped wasn't alcoholic on the cabinet beside it, a tumbler on the bed, a stain on the sheets as though its contents had been spilt.

No Newt. No case.

Tina frowned. Where the  _hell_ was her friend?

“Newt?” Tina said softly, drawing her wand again as she stepped into the room. Her instincts, honed by years of Auror-work and having a younger sister, were blaring loudly. Something wasn't right. This wasn't normal.

Newt might have left his hotel apartment in a hurry, yes. He might have gone in search of an injured creature, perhaps. Or he could have had a revelation about the case and left for MACUSA while Tina was on her way over, possibly. But the stain on the sheets was dried, and the bottle on the cabinet had a stick, dried trail down its side.

He hadn't been in this room for a while, several hours at least. Tina made a decision.

Conjuring a paper bird, Tina ordered it to find Percival Graves and Theseus Scamander immediately, giving it a message to deliver: “Newt is missing. Case gone. Possible signs of a crime in his hotel room. Come quickly.”

 

*** * ***

 

Percy stared at the bed, dark eyes fixed on the stain on the otherwise clean sheets. Goldstein was speaking to the other Auror's that Percy had called for upon arrival, giving them orders despite the fact that she was of a lower rank than most of them. They all knew that he trusted the witch, that following her instructions was tantamount to following his own.

“Whoever took Newt, came in through the window.” Theseus told Percy as the elder Scamander came to stand beside him. Percy nodded. “Newt wards entry and exit points in the places he stays but I don't think he considered that anyone would try and get in through a window ten floors up,” he added quietly.

“Something he'll remember for the future, I imagine,” Percy said, and Theseus let out a breath, tension in the other Auror's frame lessening slightly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “Definitely.”

Percy turned to look at Theseus, finally tearing his gaze away from the stain. The elder Scamander sibling looked drawn out, tense, and there were lines of worry around his eyes and mouth. Goldstein looked no better. Though both Theseus and Goldstein held an intensity in their eyes, a burning intent—to find their brother and friend respectively.

“We  _will_ find him, Theseus,” Percy promised, voice holding that same intensity. “We won't rest until we do.”

Theseus stared at Percy, a desperate look flashing across his feature for a moment before it was gone. “Knowing our luck, we'll find him just as he gets himself out of trouble and solves the case,” he joked, smiling weakly.

Percy gave him a half-smile, equally as weak. “Maybe.”

“Sir.” Goldstein called from the lounge area of the hotel apartment. Percy looked at Theseus who nodded.

“What is it Goldstein?” Percy asked as he entered the lounge, Theseus behind him.

The smile Goldstein gave them both was brighter and more hopeful than Percy expected, coloured with a vicious sort of determination that he felt himself. “The Wand-Watcher in the WPO is working again. It's given us a dozen wands, six of which belong to Half-Bloods, and a further two first-genners.”

Percy blinked. “Have you–”

“I've already got Valents and the others at the office finding out more about all the witches and wizards the Wand-Watcher has given us information about. So far, we've confirmed ten cases, the remaining six are unaccounted for.” Goldstein cut in hurriedly, holding out a sheet of paper with six descriptions on it. “These are the wand descriptions and real-time locations. Reeves in WPO figured out a way to get the Wand-Watcher to provide updates automatically.”

Percy’s brows were close to his hairline, surprised at how much Goldstein had done. Beside him, Theseus reached out and all-but snatched the paper from Goldstein’s hand.

“Two cherry wood wands with Unicorn hair cores,” he read aloud, “well we can strike those two off on account of their wand cores. It's almost impossible to use wands with Unicorn hairs in them for Dark magic; the nature of a Unicorn is directly counter to darkness and makes them awful wands for Dark Wizards.”

Percy nodded, that he was aware of; he'd never come across a single Dark Wizard with a unicorn hair wand core, only one teen fifteen years ago who'd been on the cusp of becoming Dark. “The other four?”

Theseus grimaced. “Hard to tell. Dragon heartstring is a strong core and not as picky as Unicorn hair about Light or Dark magic.” He looked at Percy. “The types of wood don't help much either. The only one I can probably say is least-likely to be a Dark Wizard’s the Rowan wood wand. But that's because Rowan wood is very good for general protection of a home, I'm not sure how that translates to wands and magic-use.”

“We'll check on that one anyway,” Percy decided. “But we'll focus on the remaining three that you've narrowed it down to. If they don't lead to anything, we'll revisit the others.” He looked at the Aurors in the hotel apartment who watched him expectantly. “Goldstein, you're with me and Theseus. We'll take the Elder wand. Pentrich, you and Marr can take the Holly wand. Danvers and Evans can follow the Yew wand. Valents can check on the Rowan wand when he's finished with the others.”

A chorus of “yes, sir” filled the air before the Aurors in the hotel apartment made for the exit, each wearing focused, determined expressions. None of them really had any knowledge of Scamander, nothing beyond a few brief interactions and the whole Grindelwald affair, but the fact that the magizoologist had been working on a case for MACUSA, was a colleague, made this personal. Percy knew they'd give it their all just on principle alone.

“I'm making an educated guess here, but I think you know a fair bit about wand-making yourself to have chosen the Elder wand for us to investigate,” Theseus said quietly, giving Percy a sharp look.

“It's the one most likely to yield a positive result,” Percy replied calmly. “Wands made from Elder wood tend to be both powerful and used by those who walk the line between Light and Dark, so our suspect is most likely the owner of the Elder wand.”

“How do you know that, sir?” Goldstein asked, even as she followed Percy and Theseus out of the hotel apartment, locking the door behind her.

Percy looked at her flatly. “My wand is made of Elder wood,” he answered tonelessly.

Goldstein stared at him. “Oh.”

Percy nodded. “Had it not been for the fact that I wished to please my father, Goldstein, I can assure you it is very likely I could have ended up a Dark Wizard,” he confessed. “I am eternally grateful for that fact.”

“So is the rest of the world,” Theseus quipped, and Percy smiled. “Oh ye gods, he's smiling.”

“Let's go, Auror Scamander,” Percy said, ignoring the dramatic, shocked expression on Theseus face. He knew the importance of maintaining masks when worried and afraid; he had no intention of shattering Theseus’s. But they still had a job to do.

They still needed to find Newton.  _Newt_.

Percy blinked rapidly. His stride faltered for the briefest moment, barely noticeable, but it spoke volumes of how rattled he was. The feelings he had for Newt Scamander were complex and evolving, desire warring with caution and shame, guilt and fear. It mixed together into a confusing mass in his chest, driving him to distraction at the best of times.

Now the magizoologist was missing, kidnapped considering the presence of a No-Maj sleeping aid in the firewhiskey found on the bedside cabinet. All those feelings, Percy experienced about Newt boiled and bubbled beneath the surface of a mask of level intensity that felt far too thin.

He had no idea what he'd do if Scamander– no. That line of thought was of no help, not when there were possible leads. Not when there was still a chance. Percy would cross that bridge when he came to it, until then he'd push those feelings to the side, the fear and the pain of a possible loss ignored until he had no other choice but to confront them.

He was Percival Graves. He had a job to do, a magizoologist to find, a criminal to catch, and a case to solve. So that was what he was going to do.

*** * ***

 

Newt woke with a groan, grimacing at the dull ache behind his eyes. There was a light permeating his eyelids, bright enough to hurt and he shifted in his bed to try and burrow into the blanket only for something binding and biting to stop him. Frowning in confusion, he forced his eyes open just enough to look at himself. Had one of his creatures escaped the case and curled around him? There had been a time when the Niffler had let out the Mooncalves and he'd woken to six of them wrapped around him, sleeping peacefully.

Brown rope, thick and harsh, was coiled around his body, binding his arms to his sides and knees together. A shot of adrenaline burned through his body, his heart jumping into high gear as fight-or-flight instincts flared to life.

“That rope is magic resistant, Mister Scamander. It's no use struggling, you'll just tire yourself out and I need you freshly rested.”

Newt's head snapped up, the ache behind his eyes fading as the adrenaline flooded his system. “Who are you?” he asked into the dim room, stone walls and dirt-covered floors making his words echo strangely; there was a hollow aspect to it, as though he was in an antechamber attached to a large hall. Perhaps he was, he mused as the sound of movement drew his attention to the far side of the room.

From his position on the floor, lying on his side, Newt couldn't see who it was moving around, but the heaviness of the person's footfalls told him that this man, this wizard, was likely as tall as Newt himself, and probably more heavily-built. There was weight to those footfalls, a similar sort of heaviness to them that Mister Graves’s movements contained when he wasn't trying to be subtle.

“Someone who requires your assistance, Mister Scamander,” the voice replied, closer than before. Much closer. Fingers gripped Newt's hair tightly, the sudden pain making him hiss. “Someone who has little time to waste.”

“W-what do you need me to do?” Newt asked through gritted teeth, lips drawn back in an instinctive gesture at the pain and the darkness this stranger emanated. The physical touch of the wizard who'd kidnapped him gave Newt's well-honed senses a clear idea of the stranger’s magical aura – and his intent.

The fingers loosened their grip in his hair, turning from a pained touch to something more neutral yet still threatening. “I need you,” the stranger began, voice dropping an octave and softening, “to make me a potion, Mister Scamander. I'm sure you know which one I speak of, yes?”

Newt swallowed. “Yes.”

“Good.” The fingers disappeared. Gravel crunched beneath a shoe as the figure shifted, a knee appearing in Newt's line of sight as the stranger knelt down, followed by further movement until Newt could see a dimly lit face out of the corner of his eye. His kidnapper.

“But for now, Mister Scamander, I'm afraid you're going to have to sit tight,” the stranger said, a quirk of his lips just visible in the faint light from some light source Newt couldn't see from his position on the ground. “I need to go talk to a man about some ingredients.”

The other wizard rose smoothly. Newt struggled against his restraints, hoping at least to catch a clear view of his kidnapper, but the man left the room before he could, footfalls fading away into quiet echoes.

He paused for a moment, straining his hearing for any noise of his kidnappers return, before rolling onto his back and pulling his feet towards himself. Employing some truly awkward contorting, Newt managed to slide a hand behind his back and pull his bound feet closer to his backside. In a small sheath strapped to his right ankle was a poison-tipped blade no longer than three inches; a gift from a South American tribe that he'd visited when looking for Trauco in Chile.

The poison was deadly but the blade sharp and more than enough to cut through the inch-thick ropes binding him; ropes that were magic-resistant but  _not_ blade-resistant apparently, Newt thought, as he felt the first binding snap around his ankle. A small mistake by his kidnapper; one Newt fully intended to capitalise on.

Somewhere in this building – _whatever_ it actually was, though Newt figured some sort of industrial building judging by the size of it – was a Hieracosphinx; injured and probably near-death, and Newt Scamander was going to rescue it.

 

*** * ***

 

Seraphina read the memo that had flown into her office from MLE, features set in stone. Releasing it, she watched as the memo returned to its magicked form; a sparrow. It fluttered around the office, darting about as it sung a soft tune.

Seraphina was tempted to set it alight.

Newton Scamander was missing. There were hardly any leads into his disappearance, only the Wand-Watcher results. Some other possible avenues of investigation if those results yielded nothing, but nothing truly useful.

Down in the cells sat a man that Seraphina desperately wished she could just execute. A man who, if it was to be believed, had been overheard predicting Scamander’s unexplained absence two days earlier.

Gellert Grindelwald.

If she graced him with her presence, Seraphina knew it would make the Dark Wizard feel powerful when he was in such a powerless position; knowledge. Gellert Grindelwald potentially had knowledge of Newton Scamander’s whereabouts.

The question was: was Newton Scamander worth engaging with the Dark Wizard? Did the magizoologist who had caused hundreds of dollars’ worth of damage in the city, who had unleashed a case of dangerous creatures within Seraphina’s domain, worth whatever she'd have to surrender?

Seraphina was an astute woman; smart and beautiful, with a loving wife upon whom she doted. After years in love, and even more years in politics, Seraphina was exceptionally good at seeing more than people wished to share with the world. Some of her closest friends were open books to her, while others were more difficult to parse. The fact that Percival Graves was both her friend, colleague, and someone who was both open and reserved depending on the situation, made Grindelwald’s duplicity all the more grating. She had failed to recognise her friend was not her friend but rather an imposter. It had been the actions of a magizoologist that had brought about the truth of the espionage happening right beneath her nose.

Seraphina owed Newton Scamander more than the magizoologist realised, than anyone realised.

“Matilda.” Seraphina summoned her head secretary with the press of a button on the magical intercom on her desk. Matilda hurried into the room, looking expectantly at Seraphina.

Close to a hundred, Matilda, by all rights, should have retired ten years ago, but the elderly witch had flatly refused to retire. Her work ethic surpassed half of the secretaries for the upper echelons of MACUSA bureaucracy that Seraphina gladly retained her services.

“Ma'am?” Matilda clutched the clipboard she carried with her everywhere when on errands for Seraphina, a pen poised as she waited for Seraphina’s instructions.

“Cancel my next meeting, send a memo rearranging it for next week.” Seraphina ordered, standing smoothly and picking her wand up off the top of her desk. “I will be visiting the holding cells. Inform the guards on duty of my impending visit.”

Matilda nodded, scribbling away without looking away from Seraphina; a trick that Seraphina desperately wished she could manage herself. “Is there a particular purpose behind the visit, ma'am?”

Seraphina raised a brow at her secretary. Matilda nodded. “Of course, ma'am,” she continued smoothly. “They'll be ready and waiting for your visit.”

Seraphina nodded. “Good.” She hesitated. “Have there been any developments in Mister Scamander’s kidnapping?”

Matilda shook her head. “No ma'am,” she replied sadly. “MLE is still investigating the Wand-Watcher leads.”

Seraphina nodded sharply. “Keep me informed,” she said as she made for the door. Matilda nodded at her, watching as Seraphina left her office and made her way towards the elevator.

“What did I do to earn a visit from such an esteemed guest?” Grindelwald looked at Seraphina across the metal table, wrists shackled to it with goblin-made chains. “I'm honoured.”

He looked bedraggled, far from the way he had at his trial only scant weeks ago. The hair that had been neat and freshly cut was longer, uneven and shiny in a way that suggested a lack of washing. His skin was sallow, paler than normal and made his mismatched eyes take on a disturbing and alien quality. The simple uniform he wore was a generic grey, worn and creased in places that showed he slept in it.

Sat opposite Seraphina, the differences were staggering. Whereas she was well-kept and healthy, Grindelwald looked almost sickly in a way, as though he was wasting away. Impossible, of course, considering that Seraphina personally ensured the Dark Wizard received adequate care and a trained medi-witch checked on his once a month.

It simply seemed as though the incarceration was taking its toll on the Dark Wizard. Seraphina found herself incapable of sympathy for the man. In fact, if she were honest, she felt a sliver of vindictive delight at the sight before her.

It also gave her some bargaining chips for the forthcoming battle of wills; one she intended to  _win_.

“I'm afraid I don't feel the same about this visit, Mister Grindelwald.” Seraphina’s voice was brisk. “I'm here for a reason, one I'm sure you can guess.”

Grindelwald blinked, eyebrows raised. “Me?” he asked, innocently surprised. “How would I know the purpose of your visit, Madam President? I know nothing about what goes on outside of my pretty little cage in the depths of your government building.”

Seraphina features remained unmoved as Grindelwald stared at her, raising his arms as much as the chains would allow and spreading them in a universally-recognise gesture of confusion.

“Then perhaps you are also a prophet as well as a Dark Wizard, Mister Grindelwald,” Seraphina said coolly. “Considering you have a knack for making predictions that come true.”

Grindelwald tilted his head slowly. “Oh?” he asked, coyly. “Has something happened?” His mismatched eyes glittered. “I do so hope my prediction of the Muggles turning on us and waging war has come true and you're here to release me.”

Seraphina felt a muscle twitch in her face. “No.” The mock-disappointed look Grindelwald gave her made her want to grind her teeth.

“Oh,” Grindelwald said, the smile that had been growing on his face disappearing. “Then why ever are you here? I don't think I've made any predictions in the last few days that would warrant a visit from such a  _busy_ witch as yourself,” he continued, looking at Seraphina with what was probably meant to be a politely confused expression, but was somewhat menacing instead. “All those employees to keep an eye on lest one of them–” Grindelwald spread his hands as wide as he could “–just up and  _disappear_.”

He grinned suddenly.

Seraphina didn't so much as blink.

“You know exactly why I'm here, Mister Grindelwald,” Seraphina said calmly, ignoring the obvious dig at her position. “If you have any information that may assistance in the safe return of Mister Scamander, then I strongly recommend you share it. If you do,” she continued, “then I am willing to provide you with improved conditions, clothing that is your own and access to reading material to pass the time.”

Seraphina paused for a moment, letting Grindelwald consider what she was offering. “However,” she said, “if you do not share with us any information that you may have, and this is determined during the course of the investigation, you will be denied regular access to the medi-witch who had been monitoring your health as this is not a standard practice of MACUSA with suspects who are considered domestic or international terrorists. Lastly, if you do choose to provide us with information but that information is false, then the same will occur.”

Seraphina tilted her head, a brow raised as she stared unflinchingly at Grindelwald. “It's your choice, Mister Grindelwald.”

Grindelwald stared at her for a long time, the look on his face inscrutable. Then he laughed.

“Oh, you are  _very_ good at this, Madam President! I can see why Percy respects you so much,” he said, grinning widely at her. “You know that of course,” he continued, calmer, “that he respects you. Of course, you do. He's supported you from the very beginning, even when you were his rival! It's very sweet in a way.”

Seraphina breathed calmly, fighting down the desire to snarl at the shackled man.

“He told me that you'd figure out it wasn't really him, you know?” Grindelwald inspected his nails, voice light and airy. “ _Insisted_  that you'd be the one to catch me. He really believed that too, poor fool.” He looked up at her, a smirk on his face. “Imagine how he must have felt to find out that you  _didn't_  figure it out. All that trust he placed in you, all that faith and you  _let him_   _down_.”

“I did,” Seraphina admitted. “But whilst I didn't discover your subterfuge, Mister Scamander  _did_. I wonder how much that must have angered you, being discovered by a mere magizoologist; one that didn't even have the good graces to quietly go off to execution and instead escaped the sentence you imposed during your chicanery.” Seraphina gave Grindelwald a smile of her own. “Now, I think we're done playing games, don’t you, Mister Grindelwald?”

Grindelwald’s eyes narrowed, their mismatched colours making the look on his face all the more malicious as he glared at Seraphina. There was anger in his eyes, offense at being reminded of his being bested by Scamander. It was probably not the best move for Seraphina to make, bringing up Grindelwald's humiliation by Scamander when she was here looking for information about the magizoologist, but it made the Dark Wizard focus at least.

“Very well,” Grindelwald eventually said. “But I want one more thing,” he added, giving Seraphina an intense look. “And I'll tell you everything I know.”

“What?” Seraphina asked. If it was something she didn't approve of, she could refuse and offer something else, but if it was a minor thing… Well, time was short, especially since it had been three hours since Scamander’s kidnapping.

Grindelwald didn't answer immediately, choosing instead to look around the room slowly, taking it all in. When he did speak, his voice was deceptively soft.

“I want to talk to Scamander. Alone.”

Seraphina clenched her jaw, biting back the instinctive refusal. If this was what Grindelwald wanted, then that meant the information he had could possibly help in the search for Scamander. But, on the other hand, it meant agreeing to something that Scamander might refuse to do, or even put the magizoologist at risk of further harm at Grindelwald's hands.

“If Scamander is willing, then fine,” Seraphina said tonelessly. “But if he refuses, then that is his choice and I won't force him.”

Grindelwald nodded. “Of course,” he agreed genially. “I wouldn't dream of forcing Newton to do something he doesn't wish to do, Madam President. That would be most impolite of me, considering.”

Seraphina frowned. “Considering what?”

The Dark Wizard just smiled. “Oh, it's not important right now. You came here for information about dear Newton's predicament and that information you shall have, Madam President.”

He leaned forward, hands splayed on the table between them. “Now. You should probably look into the whereabouts of a man named Reginald Barbooth. Delightful man, very violent. He's excellent in a fight, can be counted on to do whatever’s necessarily to get the job done.”

Seraphina glanced over at the guard in the room, who was dutifully observing. At her nod, the guard pulled a small notebook and pencil from his pocket.

“Reginald was at my trial you know?” Grindelwald said conversationally. “He was disguised as a reporter. Your Auror's didn't even look twice at him. Most shameful. I do hope Percy is taking steps to improve their conduct, I was at my wits end with them if I'm perfectly honest.”

Seraphina raised an eyebrow. “You are not an honest person,” she pointed out and Grindelwald laughed.

“Only to those who are in denial about our position in the world, but the current and the rightful one where we are superior to the savage Muggles who would try to take our magic for their own and destroy us for refusing to serve them like slaves,” he countered heatedly. “You, dear Madam President,” he sneered, “and all those who support the Statute are going to cause us untold pain and suffering when the Muggles learn of us again, in this new century with wars that span the globe and electricity and telegrams that they can use to send messages across entire oceans! They are becoming better at killing themselves with each generation and wizards are becoming more and more vulnerable to attack from these savages! All because of your deluded idea that secrecy, hiding away in tunnels spelled to keep Muggles away, and magical trains designed to ferry children as far from Muggles as possible for schooling in remote locations, are the best way to protect ourselves.” Grindelwald snorted. “You’re all blind fools, following a foolish rhetoric made up by Muggle-loving fools who believed that they were too weak to fight bands of magicless Muggles with pitchforks!”

“You’re digressing,” Seraphina said calmly, ignoring the way the two guards in the room shifted uneasily at either her tone or the mad glint in Grindelwald’s eyes. Though, she wondered if it was fair of her to truly consider Grindelwald to be insane; the fact that it was easier to believe that Grindelwald’s ideas were crazy and that he was as well, had more to do with Seraphina’s stringent understanding of normal and abnormal behaviours and thinking. The racism of No-Maj was crazy to her, and to quite a number of others she knew, but it made sense to many of the No-Maj. Their dislike of powerful women except in their movies, too, was crazy to many witches and wizards, yet Seraphina was not so ignorant as to think them only crazy and not merely seeing things differently due to different experiences and cultures.

Maya had instilled enough of an appreciation for paying attention to the context surrounding a person’s behaviour and beliefs, so, however distasteful she found Grindelwald, and however much she disagreed with him and his beliefs, she did not dismiss him outright. His method was wrong, but Seraphina understood how powerful motivators like fear and a lack of understanding could be in the right situation. There may be No-Maj who would react as Grindelwald believed, but Seraphina was also aware that there would be plenty of No-Maj that  _wouldn’t_ react the same.

The magical community was no different either. The number of opportunists and No-Maj haters that had used the Great War as a convenient excuse to commit cruel acts and murder, turned Seraphina’s stomach. She’d had her fair share of run-ins with prejudiced idiots who possessed a decent enough repertoire of curses and hexes in her time.

No, magicals and non-magicals were far more alike in savagery than Grindelwald realised, or was willing to accept. Seraphina, at least, wasn’t as blind as the Dark Wizard.

“I digressed because you called me dishonest,” Grindelwald pointed out, voice calm again as he leaned back in his seat as far as he was able, a smirk on his narrow face. “But let’s get back to the important stuff, hmm? I imagine dear Newton is a little short on time.”

 

*** * ***

 

“So, most of those leads were a bust,” Valents muttered darkly, fingering his wand in its holster. “Graves is going to have our heads if we can't find Scamander, I swear.”

Marr shrugged. “There something going on there, ya think?” he asked, looking at Valents curiously. “I mean, I get the boss is a scary son of a bitch at the best of times, but he's been  _extra_ scary since Scamander up and disappeared.”

Valents shrugged, himself. “Don't know,” he said, “don't think I  _wanna_ know, either,” he added, snorting. “I mean, there's some stuff you ain't never gonna wanna know about your boss, and his personal life is one of them.”

Marr nodded. “Fair enough, but I just mean, like, should the boss actually be running this?” he grimaced, signing the last piece of paperwork on their confirmed-innocent suspect. “Wouldn't it be better if… You know...”

“If someone else was in charge?” Valents finished dryly, raising an eyebrow at Marr who nodded. “I'd like to see them  _try_ an’ take this case from the boss. Don't even think the bosses boss could do that and keep breathin’ after.”

Marr pulled a face. “Fair point,” he conceded. “Still… Probably not wise for the boss to be running this solo.”

Valents laughed. “You think that Graves is running this alone? With Scamander missing?” He grinned at Marr. “Oh man, you sure you're an Auror right?”

“Fuck off, Valents!” Marr glared at the senior Auror. “What you do mean?”

“ _Goldstein_ , you idiot.” Valents’ grin widened at the confused look on Marr’s face. “She's been organising stuff and bossing us around more than the boss has since Scamander up and disappeared.” Valents’ grin softened out somewhat. “Been damned good at it too, even if she is a bit of a slave driver like the boss.”

Marr felt like a fool. “Oh,” he said. “I didn't even realise she was doing it.”

“Course you didn't! You're one of the only one of us who ain't bothered about being bossed ‘round by a woman!” Valents pointed out, nudging Marr’s shoulder. “And you ain't never been one for gossiping that much, ‘specially about the ladies. No wonder you didn't notice.”

Marr scowled. “My mother brought me up better than that,” he said, giving Valents a hard look. “Damned rude to talk about a woman, any woman, behind her back; ‘specially if you're meant to like ‘em.”

Valents held his hands up. “Okay, okay, true! It is rude to talk about a woman like that, you're right.” He paused, lowering his hands back down to his desktop. “But, you gotta wonder about Goldstein and Scamander, right?”

Marr’s scowl deepened. “No,” he answered, “I don't.”

Valents sighed. “You're such a spoilsport sometimes Joe, you know that?”

“Better a spoilsport than a rude pig.” Marr countered and Valents snorted.

“Fair enough, Joe, fair enough.” Valents glanced down at his hands, frowning.

Marr looked at his colleague. “What is it, Tomas?” he asked.

Valents shook his head, shrugging a shoulder as he did. “Nothin’,” he replied. “Just… Just wonderin’ what’ll happen if we don't find English in time.”

Marr pursed his lips and looked down and away. “I don't think we’d like that outcome, Tomas,” he said quietly. “And were gonna do our damnedest to make sure it doesn't,” he added, looking back at his colleague fiercely. Valents looked at him. “Right?”

“Right.” Valents nodded. “Damned right.”

Marr smiled. “Then let's keep digging for leads. Never know what’ll crack open a case, after all.”

Valents grinned. “Oh yeah! I remember the burlesque dancer who helped lead us to our killer in a case one time. Came right on to Roger's, she did! Man couldn't look any of us in the eye for months after that.” Valents’ grin grew. “His husband was right annoyed with him; burned all his best suits and cursed the bed to bite him whenever he tried to sleep.”

Marr laughed. “Well, here's to hoping we'll get another lead like that one in  _this_ case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta so any mistakes are my own (or my phone's autocorrect). Please comment and leave kudos tho. I need all the glory I can get!


	5. Hunting for Magizoologists and Smugglers? Put Percy on the case!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Go find our consultant, Mister Graves. Bring him home.”
> 
> “Yes ma'am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to give ya'll half of what is originally chapter 5 because it's just so long now. Also, I promised an update for Christmas and failed to provide one so here, have one in February instead!

“This is  _ far _ more confusing than I thought it was,” Newt murmured, craning his head to check up the staircase he’d found after checking the rest of the floor he’d woken up on. It rose for perhaps two or three floors, perhaps a fourth or a rooftop access, but he had the sense there was more below. A cellar or delivery access perhaps? 

He’d expected one or two floors; maybe a bit of a challenge finding the exit; his wand and the creature he knew was alive somewhere in the building. Instead he’d found, well,  _ this _ . 

“Go find the creature, Newt. It won’t be a problem, Newt. You’ll find them in no time, Newt.” Rolling his eyes at his own antics, Newt’s lips quirked up in a smile as he thought on what Thee would think of his actions. 

_ ‘Oh, it’s not even a challenge to imagine what Thee’s reaction will be _ _,’_ he thought dryly, moving down the staircase with light steps that were barely audible. _‘_ _ I’ll be lucky if I’ll get five minutes to myself from now on .’ _

The staircase ended abruptly, opening out onto a wide, open space that Newt could easily see had once had looms or machines for textiles judging by the gouges in the wood and concrete ground. Black marks from soot or rust spread out in rectangular patterns on the ground, matched by similar patterns on the walls. Newt eyed them for a moment, considering them. They were probably not from making curtains.

_ ‘ Small bloody curtains if they were.’ _ They seemed familiar somehow. He just couldn’t place them.

Moving silently into the room, sticking close to the perimeter, Newt squinted at the black marks, the changing perspective altering them… from this angle, several feet from the door they seemed almost like-

“Cages.”

A  _ lot _ of cages. Fuck.

Newt let out a breath, almost a snort, anger thrumming through his body in time with his heartbeat. There had been  _ dozens _ of cages in this room, stacked on top of each other, in rows, full of creatures. Gods…

_ ‘ Someone is losing their skin today _ _,’_ he thought darkly, lip curling. _‘_ _ Witnesses be  _ damned _.’ _

Newt crouched down, coat tails bunching upon the ground, and reached out to touch the marks. His fingers came away black. Whatever had been held in these cages, Newt bet that they’d had pyrokinetic capabilities.

That narrowed it down to perhaps a hundred creatures he could think of.

“Small,” he said quietly, measuring the distances between the marks, “they’d have to be quite small; infants or no bigger than a Niffler.” 

Ashwinders were out, they required dark habitats and would have ignited fires far too extreme to have left anything behind let alone the black soot marks. Phoenixes too weren’t likely, not even chicks; the one Phoenix chick Newt had ever come across had been fiercely protected by its parents, to such an extent they’d flashed out of existence in front of him and the smugglers, leaving six of the smuggling ring permanently disfigured from magical flames. No, it certainly wasn’t Phoenixes that had been in these cages.

But then… 

The number of cages, the difficulty in maintaining control over such a large number of creatures… Newt doubted a single person could manage such a thing. A smuggling ring was the obvious conclusion and that meant his kidnapper was potentially part of said smuggling ring.

Newt’s lips twisted into a grimace. 

If he had his wand he could cast a charm to reveal the contents of the cages, perhaps even the identities of any smugglers close enough to them, but it was in the hands of some  _ bastard smuggler _ . 

Logic then. That and a bit of wandless magic. His sensitivity to magic could be useful again.

Ashwinders and Phoenixes weren’t conceivable occupants of the crates, nor were Fire Crabs judging by size alone, that left perhaps a dozen of similar sizes that Newt could identify by essence. He hoped it was one he knew.

Reaching out carefully, mindful of the potential presence of other wizards in the vicinity, Newt tentatively searched for any lingering aspects of the creatures’ magical energies in the room. He pushed past the echoes of spells cast by indistinct shadows, knowing instinctively that there was too little of those echoes to be of any use. 

A flash of death. The sensation of ice-cold heat reminiscent of hypothermia. A mournful howl.

Newt’s snapped eyes that had fallen closed open, letting out a hissed breath. “Hellhounds.” He looked down at the marks on the ground again. “They had Hellhound pups,  _ dozens _ of them.”

_ Gods all. _

The pelts of Hellhounds were in high demand in some magical circles – wizards who dealt in the art of necromancy desired Hellhound pelts for their connection to death and the underworld. Newt had thought that the trade of Hellhounds had tapered off in the past year, the crack-downs and numerous public arrests of Dark Wizards and necromancers having dissuaded most smugglers from attempting to transport Hellhounds. 

Evidently, he’d been mistaken.

Standing suddenly, Newt made a split-second decision. He’d find the Hieracosphinx that was somewhere inside this building, he’d find the bastard who had his wand, and then he’d absolutely  _ ruin _ this smuggling ring for daring to cause such suffering to innocent creatures.

At the far end of the room was a metal door, worn and heavy-looking. Newt made right for it, still sticking close to the edge of the room, mindful of hidden spells and traps in the room. His magical awareness kept him from tripping on the most innocuous of cracks and alerted him to a detection spell on the handle of the door. 

His wand would be much more useful for this sort of unravelling of spells, but Newt had handled himself well enough in the past when he was wandless. Flicking his wrist in a sharp motion, the handle moved, and the door opened; the detection spell bypassed completely. Whoever had cast it obviously not thought anyone would attempt wandless magic to open the door, they hadn’t even cast the spell properly!

Newt quirked a brow, considering how useful that knowledge would be in the future. If these smugglers were amateurs, then that boded well for him but not so well for the creatures. Amateur smugglers tended to lose a lot of their ‘stock’ purely out of ignorance and lack of knowledge.

He needed to find the Hieracosphinx and those Hellhound pups. 

Beyond the door was oddly plain, a relatively small room with no other way of entry except the doorway Newt hovered on the threshold of. There must be something though. Anything.

Stepping forward carefully, Newt reached out with his magic, sending out little pulses of energy, feeling them bounce back off the walls, ceiling and floor. There didn’t appear to be- wait, no.

In the centre of the room, several feet wide, barely perceptible even to Newt’s magic, something was hidden beneath a Disillusionment Charm. It would be too obvious to undo the charm – what if one of the smugglers arrived and found the charm disabled? – so that left Newt having to reach out and feel his way through the charm.

Whatever was underneath the charm didn’t appear to be dangerous, his magic wasn’t warning him any more than it had been since he’d woken, so he figured he wouldn’t lose his hand. Well, he  _ hoped _ he wouldn’t lose his hand. A finger he could live with, but he was rather attached to his limbs if he was honest.

The sensation of cold metal on the tips of his fingers was a welcome relief and Newt carefully stepped forward into the disillusioned space. A gentle, thrumming buzz flitted along his fingers into his hand and spiralled up his wrist and lingering, causing Newt to pause mid-step. There were protective enchantments on whatever he was now touching.

If Newt continued forward with any hint of threatening thoughts towards the smugglers, towards their operation and treatment of innocent creatures, then he’d find himself thrown bodily out of the room at the  _ least _ . Frowning in distaste, he consciously pulled his thoughts back from their contact with his magic, subconsciously influencing the feeling of his magic with the anger he felt at the smugglers, folding them behind a mental wall of reflective glass.

Whatever the protective spells were designed to let through would be what they saw of Newt’s mind and his magic now.

Tensing his muscles, Newt shifted forward, his fingers spreading out slowly on the metal object, tingling buzzing running through his arm that remained at a low buzz. It didn’t feel dangerous, almost curious. Uncertain whether he was what it was meant to protect the metal object from or meant to protect  _ as well _ . Gritting his teeth, he pushed forward, feeling the protective enchantment flex at his movements – both magical and physical – before suddenly releasing.

Stumbling forward slightly, Newt blinked at the loss of sensation as the enchantment decided he was to be protected, the metal object he’d been touching revealed to be a large steel trapdoor. It was easily ten-foot wide and at least twelve-feet long, with a simple grip bar on the bottom closest to the door Newt crouched in front of. 

The protective enchantment apparently protected the area around the trapdoor rather than the door itself, something Newt found himself surprised by; most magical users tied their protective spells to the object they intended to protect not the space  _ around _ them. 

It certainly wasn’t something he’d ever come across any of the smuggling rings doing in the past. Either it was a new development or something else was going on.

Newt wasn’t really sure which of those he preferred to be the case.

Hopefully he wouldn’t come across any of the smugglers whilst he was sans a wand but, considering his luck, Newt thought ruefully, it was entirely possible. A magnet for trouble, his mother called him once, and Newt couldn’t disagree with that assessment as he carefully reached for the handle, pulling the trapdoor up as quietly as he possibly could. The hinges still squeaked abominably loud in the magically-induced silence of the room. 

Newt froze. Wincing, he listened intently, hoping his more positive luck would hold long enough for him to at least get down the metal-rung ladder beneath the trapdoor. 

It was barely a large enough space for Newt himself to climb down and he highly doubted any smugglers could convince any unwilling, distressed creatures down there, but Newt had learnt the hard way a long time ago that smugglers had as many routes and paths of escape as he had scars.

The metal-rungs were bolted to the wall, old and rusted judging by the smudges of rust they left on his hands, as Newt manoeuvred his way down them, slipping occasionally; his smooth soled boots unsurprisingly unhelpful in a quick descent.

_ ‘ One day, I might just decide to not follow my instincts _ _,’_ he thought amusedly just as his right foot touched down on dirt rather than metal. _‘_ _ Maybe then I’d have a quiet few days .’ _

The thought of Hellhound pups, hiding in the corner of a cage barely large enough for them, cowering in fear at the sight of the smugglers who’d stolen them from their parents, killed them and the rest of the packs for their ‘prize’, made Newt pause. Others had encouraged him over the years to stop his ‘crusade’, to settle down, see reason, and stop being such a problem and a bother. 

But he couldn’t.

Not when he thought of those Hellhound pups now orphaned; the Hieracosphinx somewhere ahead, mourning its mate; the slaughtered Erumpents he’d seen in Africa on his last visit there… all of them, hurt and killed for human _greed_.

To hell with quiet days. To hell with settling down. And most certainly  _ to hell _ with seeing reason and stopping being a bother.

He’d cause an endless ruckus until Muggles rediscovered magic and he’d do so _happily_ if it saved just one creature from suffering. 

Back straightening, shoulders moving back, Newt moved forward with his head held high, not even aware of his posture and the power it exuded. His footfalls were as silent as ever, even on the dirt and gravel mix that should crunch beneath him as he moved, and his mind focused on doing these smugglers injuries they would never forget – if they survived them.

The corridor, quite possibly some sort of service corridor judging by the non-descript signs on the walls that seemed to have faded with time – though how a disused building that Newt assumed had been used for fabric manufacturing had a service corridor escaped him – wound around in a slow curve, the slight angle of the ground declining just enough for Newt to notice. It eventually straightened, and levelled, out and Newt could see in the darkness a faint outline of a door some hundred or so yards away.

No noise emanated from the door so Newt assumed it was magically sealed, mostly likely in a similar manner to the trap door he’d tricked. Covering the distance quickly and carefully, Newt cast out his magic, searching for any hidden traps, spells, or charms that could catch him unawares. A few of the more common curses he’d stumbled across over the years were present and Newt was able to effectively avoid or counter them without requiring his wand. General counters worked relatively well on most of the curses smugglers used in the West – it was the ones used in non-European countries that often posed more of a challenge for him, considering the roots of most of the magic in Europe tended towards Latin and Greek whilst non-European magic was considerably more varied and, thus, difficult to counter.

Though Newt could recall a time or two when curses based in Slavic magic had done him an injury or two over the years. He had a great degree of wariness and  _ respect _ for those curses – had they not been employed by smugglers, he may well have inquired further about them beyond learning the counters to them.

Shaking his head slightly, Newt focused back on the door he was now stood before. The handle was unassuming and, as far as he could tell, had no spells or charms attached to it. Not on  _ this _ side anyway.

_ ‘ Please don’t let them have put an alarm charm on this fucking handle _ _,’_ he thought desperately, reaching out to grasp the handle. _‘_ _ If the gods and Merlin favour me  at all , please let them not have done that.  _ Please _.’_

As the door opened a shrill whistle emitted from above the door at the same moment that Newt felt a thread of magic pulse out from the same point along the room he was now peering into.

Fucking _damn_ _it_ , they’d set an alarm charm.

_ ‘ I’m cursed _ _.’_ Newt sighed, rushing across the room, heedless of subtly now. _‘_ _ I’m fucking cursed .’ _

 

* * *

 

“I have some information for your Mister Graves,” Seraphina called out across the Auror Department, catching Percy’s attention in a heartbeat.

His head shot up, dark eyes pinning her with a stare so intense that those closest to him shifted uncomfortably. “My office,” he said after a moment, recognising the slant of Seraphina’s shoulders as a clear indicator of how public her information was to be.

Seraphina nodded, moving swiftly across the department for Percy’s office, the door swinging open before she was within ten feet of it. Percy gave the two Aurors stood beside him a look that they nodded at, understanding without needing him to say anything, and moved to follow her.

“What do you have for me that you couldn’t share with anyone else, Seraphina?” Percy demanded the moment his office door shut behind him. The expression on his face could have reduced any number of criminals to admitting their crimes in moments, but Seraphina ignored it, staring distantly at the clock on the mantelpiece.

Percy frowned. “Seraphina, I don’t have time for you—” 

“I think Grindelwald knows Scamander.” Seraphina cut him off suddenly, still staring at the clock.

Percy blinked. “Is that why you’ve come barging into my department Seraphina?” He demanded, annoyed at her. “I’m more concerned with  _ finding _ Scamander than looking into who he knows.”

“You’re not listening!” Seraphina snapped, turning sharply and pinning Percy with a sharp look. “Grindelwald  _ knows _ Scamander.” She raised an eyebrow. “A Dark Wizard who has been bested by Scamander  _ twice _ knows of him.”

“From what I can gather, Scamander is known to quite a lot of people thanks to his penchant for picking fights with creature smugglers.” Percy pointed out, holding onto his temper even as he felt like snapping back at Seraphina. “I’ve had Aurors from as far as China sending me information and offers for assistance on finding him,” he added, a sliver of amusement in his voice as he revealed that fact.

Trust Scamander to be so very memorable. 

Seraphina sighed. “I don’t think this is quite like that, Percival,” she said, sitting down suddenly in one of the chairs in the office. “I think this may have something to do with why Scamander is missing.”

Percy tensed, staring hard at Seraphina. “Explain.”

“Grindelwald spoke to one of the guards in the detention wing, indicating that he had some information on an active case of ours, information he was willing to share with only myself,” Seraphina began. “Naturally, this was ignored since he’s an untrustworthy individual at the best of times.” 

Percy frowned but remained silent, gesturing for Seraphina to continue.

“That was at least until he made a pointed comment that ‘Newton doesn't have time for games’,” Seraphina looked at Percy pointedly. “That got my attention when it was relayed to me and I made my way there as quickly as possible without giving away how urgent this was.”

Percy shook his head. “He knew how important it was from the start, that’s why he delayed in explaining what his information pertained to in the first place.”

Seraphina nodded. “I figured as much,” she agreed, “it’s why I didn’t delay too long to be honest. I recognised it as a futile gesture and considered it more important to hear what he had to say and whether it could be of use.”

Percy nodded. “Reasonable.” He tilted his head at her. “What was his information?”

“A name,” Seraphina replied, holding up a hand to forestall Percy’s angry exclamation. “I sent a memo to Wand Permits to look into the name immediately, they’re not going to have anything back for another hour at least.”

“You still should have told me immediately!” Percy near-shouted in anger. “I’m the Head Auror for Morgana’s sake!”

“And you’re personally involved in this whether you like it or not!” Seraphina shot back, fixing Percy with a hot glare. “I’d rather have something on this individual before I send you after them just on Grindelwald’s say-so, maybe you can understand that if you’d stop and think about it for a moment!”

Percy snorted angrily, grinding his teeth in directionless frustration. “You keep treating me like I’m about to break, Seraphina,” he accused sharply, voice falling back to its normal volume but still just as full as anger as before. “I can’t do my job if you smother me.”

“You can’t do your job if you don’t accept you went through something few others have any experience of and have been affected by it, either!” Seraphina responded, not at all cowed by Percy’s anger. She took a breath. “I have to think of all of my employees, Percival, not just those whom I consider friends,” she said quietly.

Percy scowled, looking away from her to stare into the dying fire in the fireplace. She was right, he just didn’t wish to admit it. The past few weeks, his temperament had greatly improved, and, try as he might, Percy wasn’t ignorant enough to not be aware of the reasons why he’d improved. Scamander was an integral part to his improved psychological health and the fact that man had been kidnapped right from under Percy’s nose… it felt like he’d lost a lot of the progress he’d made and was spiralling out of control even as he grasped at his iron will almost desperately to remain functional.

“I’m better than I was,” he said eventually. “I can’t fix this and neither can you, Seraphina. I might never be as I was, but I’d like to think I’m still able to handle my job and the responsibilities it entails.”

He looked at her then, an expression on his face that Seraphina couldn’t identify but pulled at her heart.

“I need you to trust that I can do this, otherwise what’s the point in my running this department when I’ll be shackled by your fear?” Percy said, voice softer than it had been previous. “I’m doing my best with my own fears, Seraphina, I don’t think I can handle the fears of others as well,” he admitted.

The faint pops and crackling of the dying figure meshing with the gentle ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece were the only sounds in the office as the pair of them stared at each other for a long time. Neither of them spoke, each thinking over the other’s words and the situation they were in.

Eventually, Seraphina spoke. “You’re right,” she said, her tiredness audible. “I can’t put my fears on you, it’s wrong of me to do so. But,” her gaze sharpened, “you can’t ignore my concerns or your own limitations just because they’re inconvenient, Percival, I won’t allow you to do that.”

Percy nodded. “I can live with that,” he said, giving her a slight smile before it slipped away and his professional mask returned. “This suspect? Are they known to us?”

Seraphina nodded. “I believe so. Grindelwald stated that they had attended his hearing disguised as a reporter,” she explained, nodding at the surprised look on Percy’s face. 

“Their name?”

“Reginald Barbooth.” Seraphina shared after a moment’s hesitation. “I’m uncertain if that’s their real name or if Grindelwald is simply leading us on a wild Kelpie hunt but the  _ way _ he spoke of Scamander…” Seraphina trailed off, a troubled expression on her features. “I don’t know for certain but I’d hazard a guess that Grindelwald may be obsessed with him; certainly, interested in him judging from the way he dropped in Scamander’s first name and alluded to intimate knowledge of him.”

Percy’s expression had gradually become more and more closed off as Seraphina spoke, but his eyes blazed with a protective rage that Seraphina easily recognised.

“I’ve sent off a missive to the British Ministry seeking further information about Scamander and I have his file on my desk ready for when I return to my office,” she continued, not commenting on Percy’s growing anger. “I’m reluctant to believe anything nefarious of Scamander, especially considering the things I’ve learnt of him through unofficial channels—” the look Percy gave her had Seraphina bit back an amused smile; as though he was the only one with back channels, honestly “—but I can’t rule it out just because I wish to, hence why I’ve contacted the British Ministry.”

Percy’s closed off expression shattered, a bitter look flitting across his face before the calm, focused mask of a Head Auror appeared to replace it, but it was enough for Seraphina to reach a few conclusions of her own beyond the one’s she’d already drawn. 

Standing smoothly, Seraphina gave Percy a pointed look which he nodded to in return, before opening the door of the office. “I’ll expect an update by three today, Mister Graves!” She said loud enough for her voice to carry across the office, her tone brisk and composed. “I don’t imagine you’ll disappoint me.”

Percy moved to the threshold of his office as Seraphina began moving across the department. “Of course, Madame President,” he agreed, his features composed and voice firm. 

“Very good.” Seraphina nodded, stepping into the elevator at the far end of the department. She looked at the goblin manning the controls, nodding to him wordlessly. Her last sight of the Auror Department was one that filled her with both hope and apprehension.

Percy had remained stood at the threshold of his office, face a dark storm of vicious intent, as his Aurors hurried to fulfil the orders he began barking at them as the elevator doors slid shut.

Seraphina could only hope that Scamander would be found soon, for Percy’s sake as much as for her own possible future in politics. Losing the brother of a war hero was bad enough, but losing the person who had captured the Darkest Wizard of their age? Oh, that was something Seraphina doubted she could come back from and still remain in Congress.

 

* * *

 

“Sir!” Goldstein’s voice rose above the din of the Aurors around Percy, catching his attention immediately. He looked over in the direction of her voice, noting that she was almost running across the department to reach him, a slip of paper in her right hand as she ran. “We’ve got him!”

The entire department froze. 

“Where?” Percy demanded, voice sharp and loud in the silence of the department. The Aurors around him were staring at either himself or Goldstein as she slid to a stop in front of him.

“A general address that has no one living there,” Goldstein replied hurriedly. “But,” she continued quickly, noting the way Percy’s expression darkened, “the No-Maj Liaison Office had a file on him and a list of known places he’s visited in the past,” she looked at Percy with a hunter's gaze, teeth bared in a bright smile, “including  _ three _ hideaways.” Tina held up the slip of paper and Percy realised it had a list of addresses on it. “They’re all abandoned with no No-Maj activity. Perfect places for smugglers and kidnappers to set up shop or hide from the law — magical  _ and _ non-magical.”

Percy stared at Tina, mind blank for a moment before it clicked. They’d found him.  _ They’d found the bastard who’d taken Scamander _ .

“Separate everyone into three teams, Goldstein,” Percy ordered, turning swiftly on his heel and making for his office. “I need to inform Madame President.”

“Yes sir!” Tina said, fixing her attention immediately on the Aurors around her. “Marr! You and Valents have the first address, take Priest with you and Walters as well! Richards! You and—”

Tina’s voice was abruptly cut off as Percy’s office door shut with a snap and he was alone. 

He needed to call Seraphina immediately. Tell her of the recent development. Tell her that they’d found… 

_ That they might have found Scamander. _

Gods above, but they might have found him!

Percy’s hands shot out, gripping the fabric of his chair tightly as he tried to just  _ breathe _ . 

Damn it but he didn’t have time for this! Percy scowled down at the back of his chair, mind spinning at the revelation that they had actually– that Scamander was–

“Fuck.”

Bending forward until his forehead near touched the back of the chair, Percy focused on just breathing. His mind was a burning chaos of realisation and terror and plans that were as harsh and sharply ruthless as Percy could be when his temper won out. 

Scamander was… 

Straightening up, Percy turned sharply on a heel, throwing out a hand in the direction of his fireplace. A small bowl on the mantle wobbled for a moment before a handful worth of green powder rose from it and descended into the fire, the flames sparking from their golden yellows and burnished reds to bright, luminescent green. 

“Madame President's office!” Percy barked, stepping into the flames, arms close to his sides as he spun in near-dizzying circles in the flames. He hated the floo but it was effective at fast travel. 

Stepping out into Seraphina’s office, Percy brushed off the ash settling on his suit, a slight smirk pulled from him as he noticed the mess his travel had created. Floo might be terrible but the mess it left behind for Seraphina to clean was one of its saving graces in Percy's opinion. 

_ Not _ in Seraphina’s of course. 

“Percival!” Seraphina’s voice was sharp and displeased at his sudden appearance in her office. As one of only five people who could enter her office through the floo without prior approval, seraphina was rarely surprised by unexpected visits but Percival always seemed to delight in providing them for her to be outraged by. “What is it?” She rose from her seat behind her desk, sweeping across the expanse of her office in a handful of steps, wand flicking out and clearing away the ash from Percival’s arrival. 

The look Percival gave her was one she found most disconcerting. It was almost as though her long-time colleague and friend was one step away from breaking down in front of her. He hadn't looked like this in the days after his rescue from Grindelwald's ministrations. 

_ Morgana _ but what–

“We've found him.” Percival’s voice cracked on the last word and seraphina stared.

“Found? Who?” Seraphina asked slowly, moving closer to Percival who blinked at her. Gods, was he in shock? “Percival. Found  _ who _ ?”

Percival blinked again, his eyes fixing on her face slowly. He blinked again and Seraphina saw a light go off in his mind almost. The shock fell away suddenly and the man Seraphina had trusted as her Head Auror for years returned. 

“Barbooth,” he answered at last. “Three possible locations, Goldstein is organising teams.”

Seraphina had been in politics far too long to let out a breath of relief at Percival’s return to his focused self, but internally the coil of worried emotion loosened itself enough for her to breathe easier. 

“Go find our consultant, Mister Graves,” Seraphina ordered, shoulders back, head raised as she stared at Percival. “Bring him home.”

Percival nodded. “Yes ma'am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me for the cliffhanger lmao


	6. Keep Newt Away from Volatile Things (Including Himself)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _‘It's better than nothing,’_ Newt thought, taking a breath to steady himself. _‘Don't think about the very horrible death awaiting you if you do this, Scamander. Just don't.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm done. I'm actually done. I wrote the final chapter. I finished it. Oh my heavens, _I did it_.
> 
>  
> 
> I had this mostly done over a month ago but I had an operation that threw my entire life out of whack and delayed me with this as I had essays to finish first. I'm done now though and you all get to enjoy the fruits of months of screaming, promises, and kudos.
> 
> Percy... Percy doesn't really. 
> 
> ~~Gods but I'm such an asshole to Percy lmao~~

Newt dove forward, barely managing to avoid the stunner one of the three men – one he didn't recognise – in the room aimed at him. Scraping the palms of his hands on the dirt-gravel ground, Newt didn't pause, scrambling to his feet immediately and twisting out of the way of another stunner aimed his way. 

“How'd he get in here?” One of them, the one who had aimed the first stunner at him, exclaimed. 

“I don't fucking know!” A second, taller than the first with a mustache that wouldn't have been out of place in the Old West, snapped. “Blame Barbooth for his shoddy spellwork!”

“We were warned he'd be tough to pin down,” the third, Barbooth, pointed out calmly even as he shot a particularly nasty curse at Newt who ducked behind a large cauldron. The sound of the curse impacting then metal of the cauldron left Newt dazed for a moment. 

A moment was all any of the three needed. 

“ _ Crucio _ .”

His awareness of the room disappeared in a screaming haze of agony. Nails and spikes jammed themselves into his skin, his limbs burning with fire, throat tearing itself apart into a bloody mess as he  _ screamed _ .

“Edgar, stop it! We need him alive damn it!” The words were distant and hazy, filtered through Newt’s mind as it processed  them but didn’t understand. All he could feel, all he cared about, was  _ pain _ .

“It won’t kill him,” a harsh, amused voice laughed. “He might wish it will, but it won’t.”

“Enough Agrippa,” Barbooth’s voice ordered and the agony for Newt ended.

Slumping down on the ground, barely able to drag air into his lungs, feeling as though they were burning, Newt whimpered.  _ Fucking Cruciatus Curse _ . If he ever learnt who had created that fucking curse, he’d steal a TimeTurner and kill the bastard before he could.

“Get him up.” Rough hands grabbed Newt’s arms and hoisted him up onto his knees before one of the hands let go of his arm, instead gripping a fistful of his hair and wrenching his head up.

“You’re as slippery as I was told, Scamander,” Barbooth commented lightly, smirking at Newt who glared up at him. “I honestly didn’t think you’d be able to get out of those ropes.”

Newt snorted. “I’m a Half-Blood, not brain dead unlike your two associates.” Newt hissed as the one with a handful of his hair in their hand gave a vicious tug.

“You’re a Half-Blood?” Barbooth asked, surprised. “Your family have kept that one quite the secret, Scamander.”

“It’s hardly a secret,” Newt replied, “it’s not my fault no one bothers to actually pay proper attention to the magic used to render family trees.”

Barbooth ignored him. “If you’re a Half-Blood, why is it that Grindelwald told me you’re a Pure-Blood?”

Newt tensed at the mention of Grindelwald but otherwise didn’t react. “Probably because he pays as much attention to things as everyone else who thinks the same?” He responded, cheekily. 

Another tug on his hair was he reward for his cheekiness.

“Manners, Scamander.” Barbooth chided. “I would imagine you were raised with them, though perhaps not if your mother was a Mudblood.” Bartbooth smirked at the angry look Newt aimed at him. “It’s obvious that your father isn’t a Mudblood judging by who his parents were, so I guess he must have tainted the Scamander name by marrying a Mudblood.”

Newt glared up at Barbooth, blood pounding in his body. ‘ _ You’re a dead man _ ,’ he promised darkly in his mind. No one insulted his mother like that, no one.

A sharp whistling noise distracted all of them, drawing their attention to the door before they realised it wasn’t the door alarm.

“Shit! The potion!” The one gripping Newt’s left arm exclaimed, releasing him in order to dash across the room towards a large cauldron off to the side in a small alcove. A shower of silver and red sparks were spitting out of the cauldron, some hitting the stone wall of the alcove, sizzling on contact.

“For Morgana’s sake, Salem! You were meant to be watching it!” Barbooth snapped, turning to watch Salem.

Newt took the opportunity presented to him. Moving suddenly, he brought his free arm up, shoving the palm of his hand into the sternum of the wizard  – Agrippa? Who on earth names their poor child ,  _ Agrippa _ ? –  holding him as he shifted to kneel on one leg. Agrippa cried out in surprise and pain, instinctively releasing his hold on Newt at the pressure against his sternum forced him to. 

Without pausing to consider how successful he’d be, Newt moved forward, getting his feet under him and barrelled into Agrippa, taking him off his feet with the force of the impact. Agrippa’s wand clattered to the ground, bouncing on the stone-dirt mix and Newt dived towards it. 

“ _ Expelliarmus _ .” Barbooth said, sounding almost bored, and Newt watched Agrippa’s wand soar away from him, landing at Barbooth’s feet with a simple thud. Barbooth pointed his wand at Newt. “Honestly, Scamander. We only need you to brew a potion,” he drawled. “There’s no need to be so frustrating.” 

“If we're going to do this,” Salem said, preventing Newt from responding to Barbooth. “Then we need to get this done fast. The wards I set up outside have just lit up.”

Barbooth sighed. “Honestly, Aurors are such a trial.”

“How'd you know it's Aurors?” Agrippa asked, taking his wand from Barbooth and directing it at Newt. “Could be a couple of No-Maj.”

Salem snorted. “The wards divert No-Maj  _ away _ from whatever they're surrounding, you idiot!” He rolled his eyes as he used his wand to stir the rod in the cauldron. “No wonder you failed that class,” he muttered. 

Agrippa glared at Salem. “Go to hell,” he snarled, aiming his wand at Salem. 

“Enough you two,” Barbooth ordered, not looking away from Newt who glared at him hotly. “I'm not in the mood to deal with your squabbling. Work it out on your own time, later. Scamander here has a part to play and I'm sure he's just  _ dying _ to know what it is.”

“Not particularly,” Newt responded. “Unless it involves killing you lot, of course,” he added, sneering at Barbooth who laughed. 

“Grindelwald was right about your hidden ferocity, Scamander, I have to admit,” Barbooth grinned maliciously. “It's not going to save you this time, however. This potion requires a very special sort of ingredient.”

“Let me guess. The blood of one whom is considered an enemy, right?” Newt drawled. “Such a surprise,  _ not _ .”

Barbooth’s grin widened. “No,” he replied, enjoying the way Newt looked at him in surprise. “Not the blood of an  _ enemy _ . Rather, this potion requires the blood of an  _ Egyptian _ .”

Newt blinked. 

“I'm not Egyptian.”

Barbooth laughed. “Not full-blooded, no. But it seems Grindelwald knows more about your family history than you do. Not exactly surprising given who he is, of course.”

Newt stared at barbooth. Here he was, on his knees in a basement of some sort of warehouse with two wands pointed at him. He'd been kidnapped by this trio of Dark Wizards in order to help them complete a potion and it was all because they believed he was part-Egyptian. Really? 

Would it matter if he pointed out that he was as far from Egyptian as it was possible to get without actually being a magical creature? Probably not. It probably wouldn't help to tell them about his actual family history either. 

‘ _ Grindelwald doesn't know as much as he thinks he does _ ,’ Newt thought viciously. ‘ _ And I'm going to make sure it bites him in the arse, again _ .’

With a flick of his wand, Barbooth indicated for Newt to move toward the cauldron. Not wishing for a second round of that damned torture curse, Newt rose to his feet.

“Out of curiosity,” Newt began, looking back at Barbooth as he moved towards the cauldron. “What would happen if the blood  _ wasn't _ Egyptian?”

Barbooth raised an eyebrow. “Going to try and claim your ancestry is Chinese?” he asked derisively. 

“Not in the slightest.” Newt responded. “Though there's nothing wrong with being Chinese, I can't claim any such ancestry.”

Barbooth snorted, shaking his head. “Just move over to the cauldron, Scamander.”

“I'm just curious,” Newt said, looking at the cauldron with a calculating gaze. “Would it just become inert? Or would it explode?”

“The later actually.” Salem answered unexpectedly. Newt and Barbooth both looked at the Dark Wizard who was focused on the potion. “The number of ingredients in this potion requires something that is unique to Egyptian blood. Though it can work without the blood, for it to become permanent, it requires a large quantity of Egyptian blood.”

Newt tilted his head. “How much blood?” He had a feeling he already knew how much was required. 

“Oh, about the same amount as the average person has at any one time,” Salem responded absently. 

_ ‘Of course it does,’ _ Newt thought.  _ ‘Of course.’ _

“Less talking, Salem.” Barbooth cut in. “This isn't a potions class,” he added snidely. 

Newt ignored the two Dark Wizards, thoughts turning inwards, as he considered how much blood would be needed for an explosive reaction. Either it would be too much for Newt to gain any advantage, or it'd be such a small amount that he might not have any time to protect himself. 

_ ‘Oh, I hope it's somewhere in between the two,’ _ he thought. 

“Agrippa!” Barbooth called out, drawing Newt's attention back to the Dark Wizard. “Get the Hieracosphinx. We need to add its eyes before Scamander’s blood.”

Newt breathed in deeply, biting back his anger so he didn't attack Barbooth and end up tied up again. They  _ did _ have a Hieracosphinx! Gods but what had they done to the poor thing? 

He couldn't let the potion explode now. Not when they'd kill the Hieracosphinx for its eyes before killing him. No. 

Though… Maybe he could cause it to explode regardless.  _ Before _ they killed the Hieracosphinx. He just needed a way to get his blood into it  _ now _ . 

The sound of Agrippa heading off towards an adjoining space of the room Newt was in gave him some idea of where the Hieracosphinx was. If they'd managed to capture one alive then Newt knew they'd had to have used a lot of magic to keep it contained and unable to harm them. 

That meant it had a chance of surviving an explosion from a potion that had ingredients capable of eating through magic. If there was enough magic present and the potion was, hopefully, not as powerful as it would be with the Hieracosphinx eyes in it, then anything protected by several strong magical barriers  _ might _ survive. 

_ ‘It's better than nothing,’ _ Newt thought, taking a breath to steady himself.  _ ‘Don't think about the very horrible death awaiting you if you do this, Scamander. Just don't.’ _

 

* * *

 

In a quiet, mostly deserted part of Manhattan, No-Maj residents and workers started in surprise as they experienced the sensation that often accompanied an explosion. A dull sort of roaring in their ears, felt if not heard, and a deep thrumming in their chests that their hearts stuttered at. 

As quickly as it came, the sensation passed and the surprised, confused, and somewhat panicked No-Maj found themselves distracted by other things in their lives: being late to work, the lunchtime rush at the nearest cafe, avoiding the latest puddle to spring up from spontaneous rain. 

They moved on with their lives, that not-quite-an-explosion already forgotten by their minds, if not completely by their bodies, as their hearts beat wildly for unexplainable reasons as they continued living. 

At the site of that explosion-that-couldn’t-be-heard, a group of Aurors apparated into being, cracks of their magic loud in the unnatural silence of the area. 

“Holy shit.” Argus muttered, staring at the ruins of what had been a building. “The fuck did this much damage in—” he glanced at his watch “—less than  _ three  _ minutes?”

The Auror closest to him, Siegel, shook their head slowly, staring like Argus at the desolation before them. “I don't think I want to know,” she said quietly. “It reminds me too much of the damage that Obscurial did.”

Percy, just close enough to hear their discussion, even though he wasn't paying it much attention, snapped out an order for them to search, refocusing them on their job. “Spread out. Check for survivors.” He ignored the fear pooling in his stomach that there may not  _ be any survivors to find _ . 

Through the smoke and the flames still licking the walls of mostly destroyed cotton mill, Percy and his team of Aurors fanned out in pairs, searching through the debris. It was difficult to traverse the ruined building, each pile of debris and rubble a challenge to climb without disturbing and causing it to collapse beneath their feet. Percy moved as quickly as he could without compromising his or other's safety, casting spells as he went to shore-up the damaged structure. Those closest to him copied his actions  – freezing rubble as it fell, levitating large chunks of steel and concrete that threatened to collapse at any moment up and out of the way of anyone or the piles large enough to hide bodies. 

“Watch out for traps,” he called out, aware enough that stealth was pointless in the mill. Wherever their criminal was, it was likely that the bastard already knew they were here. He could only hope that Scamander wasn’t suffering for their presence. “Scamander is our priority here.”

If anyone could survive this sort of explosive destruction, Percy strongly believed that Scamander could. After reading of Newt's exploits in the Grindelwald case, and seeing him in action in the warehouse and court, Percy knew that the youngest Scamander brother was far more capable than most and had probably survived impossible odds before. 

Al-Shalad’s tale of Scamander’s time in Egypt reinforced that belief. 

Seraphina had been clear, in her own way, of how important finding Scamander  _ alive _ was; “bad press” and “poor confidence for our other consultants”. He knew  – and accepted  –  that part of her motivation connected strongly with her own position in Congress, but, he was also aware that she was concerned for Scamander  _ personally _ . And Percy.

In the end, he didn't much care for Seraphina’s motives behind her pushing them to find Scamander  – though he wouldn’t forget her withholding information out of concern for Percy’s mental state, no matter how well meaning, it made his job all the more difficult  – Percy’s priority was making sure Scamander was found, alive and unharmed, preferably, and the bastard who’d took him caught. 

Dead was also a potential outcome for Barbooth, he wasn’t picky where the dark wizard was concerned.

“Traps? In this mess?” One of his Aurors said. 

“You’d be surprised,” another shot back before they all fell silent, focused on their goal. 

Percy non-verbally lifted a section of what he thought might have been a wall before the explosion, disintegrating it instead of leaving it as a potential danger later on down the road. The top levels of the building had collapsed onto the lower levels including the basement which was where he was headed. 

What better place for a kidnap victim to be than in the basement? 

The ground floor was barely recognisable, support beams cracked and shattered, splinters of wood as long as a man’s forearm, and piles of rubble made navigating perilous and slow. 

“Scamander!” Percy shouted when he eventually managed to locate the route into the basement, a steel door set into the floor – the only reason it was even possible to be found were the protective charms placed on it by Barbooth which had repelled or destroyed any of the debris falling on it. 

Three Aurors scrambled over to where Percy was, their coats just as dusty and dirty as Percy’s own. “Open it,” Percy ordered and the oldest of the three nodded, immediately getting to work disabling the charms – his speciality. 

It took only a matter of moments for the charms to be disabled and the steel door levitated open, long enough for Percy to almost be twitching where he stood waiting. The moment the door was open enough, he shot through, ignoring the shouts of his Aurors. 

Scamander was alone, possibly injured, most definitely trapped. Like hell was Percy going to wait a moment longer than absolutely necessary. 

Like  _ hell _ .

Moving carefully down the passageway, Percy watched for any signs of movement. He spared a moment to wonder how this had remained in tact, especially considering that the building itself hadn't, and the explosives expert in the department insisted the explosion had originated  _ beneath _ the building. 

He half hoped it was the work of some great magic by Scamander that left this passageway unscathed  – the magizoologist along with it  – but the lead ball in his stomach made him believe otherwise. 

Percy could only hope Scamander was alive, anything else was probably too much to ask the universe. 

“Sir,” Angus called out softly, drawing Percy's attention to the Auror in front of him. Protocol demanded Percy not be the first heading into an unknown situation but it didn't say anything about him not being the  _ second _ . “I think there's a door up ahead. Seems intact to me.”

Percy lifted his wand higher, shining the beam from the tip further along the passageway. There  _ was _ a door ahead of them. 

“Careful,” Percy warned quietly. “If Scamander is behind that door he might be held at wandpoint or injured. Detection spells to map what's beyond before we even  _ think _ about touching that door.”

Argus nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Sir, I'm probably the best at detection spells of the lot of us, should I?” Goldstein asked from behind Percy. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Gideon is better but he's on leave until he's over that Curse he was hit with.”

“Up front Goldstein,” Percy ordered after a moment. Goldstein immediately moved in front of him. “Stay sharp.”

“Yes sir.” She nodded. 

The group of Aurors continued along the passageway single-file until they reached the door Argus had noticed. Percy stood directly in front of the door, Siegel behind him, Argus to his right and Goldstein to his left muttering detection spells to herself. After a tense few minutes, Goldstein looked up at Percy and gave him a sharp nod. 

“No active spells beyond the door. Two living creatures, both injured—” Goldstein’s voice trembled for a moment “—but not close to death. There's nothing much more than that, that I'm able to get sir.”

Percy processed that information quickly. “Argus, you enter first, I'll follow. Goldstein, you're behind me. Siegel, hang back here in case we need a distraction. Be ready to call for backup as well.”

The Aurors around Percy nodded. “Yes sir,” they said. 

Percy raised his wand. He swallowed. 

“Move.”

A flurry of silent movement in the passageway later and the door was thrust open, Argus diving through it, followed closely by Percy and Goldstein a moment after. 

“Clear!” Argus pronounced, scanning the area before them. The tip of his wand flared red-orange. “Wait!”

“Potential hostile present,” Percy said softly. “Kill if necessary to preserve yourselves and Scamander.”

The Aurors spread out slowly, moving carefully within the mostly intact room. Part of the ceiling looked to have caved in over to the left obscuring what might have been a corridor or another room. A large cauldron on its side over to the right, a dull liquid dripping over the rim. Sunlight filtered through cracks and small gaps from the floor above, and dust motes gleamed in the beams casting the space into a strange, otherworldly place. 

Argus followed his wand, the tip glowing brighter with each step he took toward the potential hostile. Goldstein kept close, only a few feet away, but focused on scanning the room to discern where any bodies were. Percy felt a prickling on his neck, not the sensation of being watched but something different. It was more akin to the sensation that accompanied something needing his attention – or catching his magics attention, at least. 

Turning away from his Aurors, he made his way toward the blocked off area, wand at the ready. There was something- no,  _ someone _ there, trapped behind the rubble of the collapsed walls and ceiling.

“Goldstein.” Percy called quietly, catching the other Auror’s attention. “Behind here.”

Goldstein moved towards him, wand aimed at the rubble, and flicked it three times in quick succession as she stopped beside him. A large clump of bricks, broken and crumbling, levitated itself out of the way, revealing more rubble behind it. Percy flicked his own wand at the pile, disturbing the rubble at the top carefully. They didn't want it to collapse, not with someone behind – or trapped beneath – it. 

“Sir.” Argus’s voice echoed in the room between the sound of moving debris. “There's a body here. Not our suspect.”

Percy looked over at the other Auror. “The threat?” Argus shook his head. “Keep searching.”

“Yes sir.”

Goldstein let out a surprised sound, drawing Percy's attention like a whippet. His head snapped round, body tensing. 

“Newt!” Goldstein cried. 

The cuff of a blue coat, caked in dust and grime, with darker spots that instinctively worried Percy was barely visible through the debris. Though Percy couldn't see anything else of Scamander he knew with certainty that it was him. And that he was alive. 

For now. 

“Careful!” Percy barked, stopping Goldstein from moving with an arm. “The ground is unstable, if we move too quickly we could destabilise it.”

Goldstein looked at Percy, her eyes tinged with horror and fear but the emotions were being held fiercely in check by her Auror training. Percy had a surge of fondness for the younger Auror. 

“Stabilise the ground and shore up the walls and ceiling, the rubble is keeping most of it intact but that won't last with the amount we've moved.” Or the amount they still needed to move. 

Goldstein nodded, firm and resolved as she quickly and efficiently began casting spells to stabilise the area. Percy focused his attention on the remaining debris, evaluating with a critical eye and his magic to best figure out how to remove the rest. The debris they'd already moved had been relatively unimportant in keeping the area stable, most of it just the loose rubble that rolled from the top and across the ground. But now the remaining debris was currently pinning Scamander down – unconscious and injured, possibly even close to death,  _ don't think like that Percival!  _ – and they needed to be much more careful. 

“Sir.” Siegel called from the doorway. Percy didn't startle but he blinked, focusing on what was happening again. He hadn't even realised he'd been starting to zone, rolling down towards shock as he stared at the rubble trapping Scamander. 

He turned to look at Siegel, the younger Auror watching him in that careful way they had. “I took the liberty of calling for some magical contractors, sir. They'll be here in minutes.”

For a moment, Percy just stared at Siegel, then he nodded. “Healers would also be advisable,” he said. 

“Also on their way, sir. And the rest of the team up-top are securing the area and renewing the anti-No-Maj wards.” Siegel waited a moment before giving Percy a nod. “Shall I head back to the entrance sir and direct the contractors when they arrive?”

Percy nodded. “Yes, Siegel.”

“Sir.” With another nod, the younger Auror slipped out of the room, the sound of their footfalls fading until the only noises present emanated from the three Auror's in the room. 

Percy turned to look at Goldstein who looked at him somewhat forlornly. 

“I don't think we can do anything else, sir,” she said, voice heavy with guilt. “I've done my best but I don't think anyone ever thought higher tier stabilising spells were necessary in Auror training.”

“You've done your best, Goldstein.” Percy gave her a firm look. “We just have to wait.” He looked at the pile of rubble that obscured Scamander from view. “I can feel that he's alive and not in danger of dying immediately, if we do anything to disturb that debris without the proper wards and spells, then we might end up killing him ourselves.”

A hand rested lightly on Percy's arm, startling him. He glanced down at it then looked up at Goldstein’s face. The witch’s expression was gentle and concerned. “It's not your fault that this happened, sir. No one could have predicted this.”

“It's my job to predict things, Goldstein.” Percy whispered. 

“No, it's not.” Goldstein shook her head. “It's your job to protect civilians and to run a department full of capable Auror's. It's not your job to prevent every crime ever, sir,” she smiled softly. “Even if it sometimes feels that way,” she added. 

Percy snorted. “You'd know plenty about that,” he said, raising an amused eyebrow at the confused expression on Goldstein’s face. “Most of your fellow Auror's have been treating you as my second since this case began,” he explained, enjoying the surprised blush that spread across the witch's face. “I've even had several come and tell me to make it official so they can stop pretending you haven't been ordering them about.”

Goldstein opened her mouth, cheeks flushed. The sound of several sets of running feet distracted them both. 

“Sir!” Siegel called as they reached the doorway. “The contractors are here! And a healer. More are on the way down now.”

Immediately, Percy moved into action, Goldstein jumping to attention simultaneously. 

“We have an injured individual trapped beneath this debris. We've moved as much as we have been able to without destabilising the walls and placed every stabilising spell we know to decrease the strain on the rubble and surrounding area,” Percy explained quickly, directing the contractors over to the debris. “As far as I can tell, he's still alive but I can't determine how severely injured he is but time is of the essence.”

Immediately the contractors began casting stabilising spells, though one of them carefully began tracing runic wards with their wand. Percy distantly recognised several of the runes as being related to earth and stability. 

The healer moved forward, stopping beside Percy, wand aimed in the direction of the debris. The tip of their wand glowed white briefly and they let out a relieved sigh. “You're right about him being alive, Auror Graves,” the healer said, turning to look at him with her dark eyes. There were flecks of grey in her hair, contrasting sharply with the dark black shade but it didn't look out of place, instead she looked wise and someone to listen to. “He's got some lacerations, possibly a broken arm or at least a fracture but that seems to be it. He's not in immediate danger of dying but the debris could change that if it shifts or if he remains trapped.”

One of the contractor’s overheard the healer, craning his neck to look at her. “You sure about that, healer?” he asked, a strong brooklyn accent colouring his vowels. At the firm nod the healer gave him, he let out a curse and turned to look at the other four contractors. “All right fellas, you heard the healer! Gotta get this debris shifted quick and get this guy out for her to patch up!”

Percy's knowledge of architecture and construction came from his time in Europe during the Great War, a time spent going from place to place, chasing wizards taking advantage of the No-Maj fighting among themselves to commit atrocities on a scale not before witnessed. Unfortunately for Percy, his knowledge was useful only for repairing buildings to search for corpses not living beings, and, as such, he was useless and  _ knew _ it. 

Scamander was buried beneath rubble, injured, unconscious, and Percy had to rely on the skills of others he had never trained to rescue him. It burned. 

“Sir!” Argus’s voice snapped Percy out of his seething internal resentment, drawing his focus and that of Goldstein beside him in a moment. “I think you ought to see this sir.”

Percy, biting back a snarled comment, turned away from a situation where he was useless and focused on one in which he could be useful. At least, if there was a situation that Argus had called him over for. Goldstein hesitated, torn between following her boss and remaining where she was for the sake of her friend. Percy saved her from making such an agonising decision. 

“Inform me the moment he's clear and can be transported out,” Percy told her, ignoring the flash of relief and gratitude in Goldstein’s expression as she nodded at his order. “Don't get in their way unless it's necessary.”

“Yes sir.”

Percy nodded once at the younger Auror, before making his way across the room toward Argus. He hadn't put his wand at any point since they'd arrived on site and the grip he had on it was making Percy's fingers tingle from lack of circulation. He consciously loosened his grip enough for his fingers to spark with pain for a moment as blood began to flow more easily in the digits. 

“What is it?” Argus didn't answer Percy's question out loud, instead he pointed at something near the wall close to the corner that was furthest from the door. “What is that?”

“Not sure.” Argus flicked his wand upwards, a shimmer of smokey light shooting out of the tip for a second before fizzling out. “It's not anything our detection spells can figure out but the standard dark detection charm says its nothing nice.”

“Something new?” Percy shivered, fighting back a shudder. There was enough evil in this world, who in the right mind would want to make more of it?

‘ _ You've answered your own question, fool _ ,’ Percy thought, biting back a curse. ‘ _ Picquery is going to be pissed _ .’

“Lock it in the strongest dark container we have and get the Silent Speakers to share some of their tricks. I'll get the President to order them if needed, but try the polite way first.” Percy ordered. “Not a word of this outside the department either,” he added. “This is the last thing we need the press getting wind of.”

“Sir.” Argus nodded, already conjuring a missive to send to the department. “Not a word,” he assured. 

Percy gave him a sharp nod, thankful that Argus was an experienced, level Auror he could count on in a crisis. Goldstein was good but she lacked the calm that came with experience. 

The sound of cursing and moving debris caught their attention and Goldstein’s call for him had Percy turning away from Argus before he'd even processed what was happening. 

“Sir!” Goldstein called out. “Sir!”

“Out of the way!” One of the contractors shoved Percy aside as he reached Goldstein’s side. “Damn it, move!”

“What's going on?” Percy asked, demanded really, even as he allowed the contractor to push him back away from the debris pile that was  _ moving _ . “Is that-”

“That's not your man making it move!” The contractor cut him off, a hand out automatically in front of Percy and Goldstein, subconsciously ordering them to stay back. “We don't know what's happening.”

‘ _ Shit _ ,’ Percy thought, glancing at Goldstein who was staring at the debris with laser focus, panic in her eyes again. ‘ _ The fuck is going on? _ ’

“There's no one under the debris except your guy,” the contractor said, giving Percy a look. “Whatever is doing this isn't human.”

“ _ Shit _ .”

Percy stepped forward, glancing at the contractor when he didn't make a move to stop him. Holding his wand aloft, Percy aimed it at the debris and cast a spell that Scamander had suggested that the Aurors add to their repertoire only a month ago. He'd been reluctant at the time to admit that Scamander’s suggestion plugged a gaping hole in their detection spells, but he was endlessly thankful that he'd caved and added it to the list of required spells for his Aurors to know. 

“ _ Status ostende de animalibus _ .”

A glowing silhouette of silver-gold appeared, overlaying the debris that was still shifting. Percy had no idea what sort of creature it was but it was big and looked angry. 

“Holy shit.” Someone said in the silence that had fallen when Percy had moved forward. “The hell is that?”

“Scary.” Another one quipped. 

“It's a Hieracosphinx,” the healer said, moving forward toward Percy. “Much like Sphinxes, Hieracosphinx are prone to trickery and violence but they have quite a few positive magical qualities. Their feathers are useful for healing spells as a focusing tool.”

Percy looked at her. She shrugged. “Optional course in Europe on magically mythical creatures. They came up.”

“Are they hostile?” He asked. Again, the healer shrugged. 

“Most beasts are hostile to wizards,” she answered. “Isn't there a protocol for this?”

Percy kept his face blank but winced internally. That protocol was direct and straightforward: neutralise all beasts in all situations. Except for the fact that there was a magizoologist who would have his head if he followed protocol. 

Percy didn't doubt that Scamander would actually try and murder him if he just killed this beast.

_ Damn _ .

“If it tries to attack, we stun it.” Percy decided, looking back at Goldstein and Siegel who had come to stand beside her. They both nodded. 

“And if stunning it doesn't work?” The healer pressed. 

Percy looked at her. “A pointless question, healer.” Turning away from her, Percy fixed his gaze on the contractor who he'd been speaking to. “Can we remove this debris in one go?”

The contractor grimaced. “Well,” he began, “we've shored up the walls and ceiling so it won't cave in so we could move it, yeah, but—” the contractor looked at the debris “—we run the risk of hurting your guy if we do.”

“Then don't hurt him.” Percy ordered, ignoring the glare the contractor threw at him. “Goldstein, Siegel, be ready.”

Percy turned around, stepping closer to the debris pile. Scamander’s hand was still visible, the blue cuff of his coat dusty and faded from the dirt and dust, a smudge of red staining part of it dark. He knelt down and wrapped a hand around Scamander’s wrist. 

“I'll pull him clear of the debris the moment it's high enough,” he explained, wand aimed at Scamander’s hand. “The charm I'm casting should protect him if anything goes wrong but it's not a guarantee.”

‘ _ I hope _ .’

“On three,” the contractor said, aiming his wand at the debris. The other contractors followed suit. “One.”

Goldstein and Siegel raised their wands, both standing in a battle pose. 

“Two.”

Percy's grip on Scamander’s hand tightened. 

“Three!”

The debris levitated suddenly up off Scamander, revealing the magizoologist that had been trapped beneath. Simultaneously, Percy pulled Newt toward him, pulling him with both his physical strength and magic. 

The healer was there beside him a moment later, hands already on Scamander, muttering under her breath even as Percy kept pulling Scamander. She went with him, partly crawling across the debris-ridden ground, heedless of how it was ruining her robes. 

“Stun it!” One of the contractors cried out, voice full of panic and Percy's head snapped up. A sharp, bloodied beak appeared in his view, open wide and aimed toward him. His wand was up before he'd even processed the threat, a quick shield shocking into existence and the beak slammed into it with enough force to visible crack it. 

Twin red beams slammed into the side of the beast as Percy continued dragging Scamander back, the healer now helping him in earnest. They impacted the dusty fur, dissipating harmlessly across the surface and Percy cursed internally.

“Kill it!” He ordered, bringing up his own wand and firing off a curse that dissipated when it hit the creatures hide. “Find a way to kill it, damnit!”

Kneeling on one knee beside Scamander’s prone form, Percy provided the healer with cover enough for her to return to working on the magizoologist. He briefly wished that the other wizard was conscious right now so he could help but the sight of Scamander’s face, pale and lax with dried blood on the side, made something inside Percy twist uncomfortably. 

“He's stable!” The healer exclaimed. “He's clear to be moved!”

“Then move him!” Percy shouted at the healer over the sound of a dozen spells aimed at the beast. The roar the beast let out as they impacted nearly deafened him, even as he moved to stand. “ _ Now _ !”

The shield Percy had conjured smashed suddenly as the beast barrelled into it, shrieking. Percy’s eyes widened in surprise and horror as he realised it was aiming for him before he was suddenly tossed aside by a paw slamming into his side with enough force to knock the breath out of him. 

He landed with a crunch on the ground, rolling several times. Noise was muffled. Everything around him was hazy and distant as he blinked sluggishly. He blinked again. The haze receded. He blinked again. 

“Percival!” A voice cried out in surprise, hoarse and weak but clear to Percy's senses. 

That was Scamander’s voice. 

Scamander. 

Newt. 

That was  _ Newt _ . 

Percy bolted upright suddenly, woozy from the movement, but he ignored the dizziness, focused on seeking out Newt. Across the room, propped up on one arm, looking weak as a newborn foal, beside a healer who looked terrified, was Newton-fucking-Scamander. 

The beast was towering over him, howling and snarling. Scamander ignored it, his gaze focused on Percy across the room, eyes wide and full of something. Percy's entire body burned with terror at the sight of Scamander, defenseless, not even concerned with his own situation. 

His wand was moving before he'd even registered, coming up to focus on the beast's head with a deadly precision. A beam of green intertwined with silver slammed into the beast's head with such force it knocked the beast sideways.

“No!” Scamander cried, face etched with horror as he tried to move but was prevented by the healer at his side and his own weakness. “No!”

Percy watched, mind growing fuzzy, as the beast staggered back away from Scamander, whining and shaking its head. One of its hind legs gave out and it collapsed on the ground with a shrill cry. 

A beam of red light hit the beasts side, this time not dissipating when it impacted. Percy turned his head sluggishly, blinking as something dripped in his right eye. Siegel was stood, aiming at the beast with an expression on their face that was difficult for Percy to figure out. Goldstein was beside her, clutching wand arm to her side, a pained expression on her face. 

With one last cry that had Percy turning his head to look at it, the beast's head dropped to the ground, a small cloud of dust billowing up as its beak dug into the dirt. 

Someone wearing pale white robes appeared beside Percy, startling him, but before he could move they spoke. “Remain still Auror Graves, you have a concussion that needs to be treated immediately.”

A concussion. ‘ _ That'd explain it _ ,’ Percy thought slowly even as he felt a warm tingling in the back of his mind indicating the healer was working on fixing it. ‘ _ But how did I cast… _ ’

“You're lucky, it's nothing serious so you won't need admitting but I do recommend you take a calming potion soon, Auror Graves,” the healer - a male, Percy realised now that he was able to focus properly - recommended, holding out a hand for Percy to grasp. He took it and allowed the healer to help him stand. 

“Mister Scamander is a little more injured but nothing life threatening.” The healer continued. “No broken bones or internal bleeding, at least,” he added. 

Percy looked over in the magizoologist’s direction, noticing that there were four healers surrounding Scamander. He didn't know when they'd arrived, but Percy was well aware that he always lost time whenever he was concussed. 

“Good. Keep me informed,” he told the healer before turning away from where Scamander was and heading for the exit. 

He heard someone call out his name as he left but the voice was weak and hoarse and not one of his Aurors so Percy ignored it and kept going. Scamander didn't need to see him, not after what he'd just done. 

Percy was well aware that he'd just done something Scamander would never forgive. 

Unfortunately, Scamander wasn't one to be stopped when he was determined. By the time Percy had reached the exit of the basement, Scamander had escaped the healers surrounding him, ignoring their requests to remain where he was and not aggravate his injuries. 

“Graves!” The anger in Scamander’s voice was unmistakable. Several Aurors nearby looked at the magizoologist in surprise.

Percy closed his eyes briefly before turning around to look at the magizoologist. He shouldn't have been standing, let alone staggering around alone.

“Scamander–” Percy began, reaching out towards Newt, brow furrowing in concern as the magizoologist staggered over the rubble of the cotton mill towards him.

“You killed her!” Newt snarled, eyes blazing with an anger seldom seen. “She was defenceless, and you ordered her to be  _ killed _ !” Newt stepped close to Percy, staring him in the eye with no hint of hesitation. There was only anger and grief in his blue-green eyes that all-but burned. “How are you any different to Grindelwald and every other wizard that follows him?”

The Aurors in the vicinity visibly startled, more than close enough to hear Scamander. Percy, tired and still somewhat dazed from the concussion,  saw red. Here he was, concerned for Scamander’s health, amazed that the magizoologist had survived mostly uninjured. He’d done his damned job when faced with an injured, possibly violent creature towering over Scamander’s injured form. He’d reacted to save a life, a  _ human _ one. And now, instead of  _ thanking _ him – of thinking that maybe Percy had just  _ reacted _ like any  _ sane _ person would – here Scamander was; comparing him to- to- to that madman who’d made his life absolute  _ hell _ .

Grabbing Scamander’s arm tightly, he dragged the magizoologist away from where the other Aurors were. “You  _ know _ that I am not the man you met when you first came here, Scamander.” Percy hissed. “I do my job and my job includes preventing attacks by magical creatures that have been exposed to the worst of wizarding kind.”

“Oh yes,” Newt laughed bitterly. “Your job is such a noble pursuit. Killing abused animals just because you lack the ability and knowledge to help them.”

Percy snarled wordlessly. 

“I’m not a fucking genius, Scamander!” His grip on Scamander’s arms tightened. “I know fuck all about animals, magical or mundane. I know fuck all about plants! What I  _ do _ know, however, is that I’m damned good at my job. That’s all I’m fucking good at, damn it! I don’t need you questioning my decisions when I choose to preserve human life instead of an animal's.”

Shoulders slumping, Percy’s grip on Scamander’s arms loosened, fingers lightly touching the fabric of Scamander’s shirtsleeves. “Not all of us are so gifted as to be Jacks of all trades, Scamander. Some of us are limited.”

Newt snorted. “Limited because you refuse to ask for help or consider that your precious New World isn’t as obedient as you’d prefer it to be?” He asked sarcastically, before changing track suddenly. 

“What do you want from me exactly?” Newt asked suddenly, staring at Percy fiercely. “Absolution for not knowing anything about animals? Fine. That’s not a challenge – admitting you’re ignorant and forgiven for it.” Newt paused, eyes flitting over Percy’s face, looking for something. “But does that absolution extend to continuing to stand to the side and watch as you – you  _ Americans _ , hunt down and eradicate the very creatures I have spent over half my life researching and protecting?”

Newt laughed, a brittle and bitter sound that grated on Percy’s nerves. “No, my absolution certainly does  _ not _ extend that far, Mister Graves.” He pulled away from Percy, shaking his head. “I am only so forgiving, Mister Graves. You killed a creature that needed protecting and you did it because you were afraid. You’re no different to any other wizard I’ve come across, no matter how noble your reason. You fear what you cannot control and that–” Newt smiled sadly “–that is on  _ you _ , not me.”

Newt turned on his heel, wobbling slightly as his injured leg protested to the movement, and walked away. Percy remained where he was, staring after Scamander who didn’t look back. Had Scamander done so, he would have seen the expression on Percy’s face; a mixture of pain and agony, the sort worn by those who had been rejected by those they found precious to them. An expression only Newt Scamander had ever elicited from Percival Graves since his mother had died when he was a child.

It was an expression quickly hidden by anger, coalescing like a veil drawn over his features. Anger was all he’d show to the world. Anger and coldness. Let him be a bastard. Let him be no better than those he hunted. 

Scamander was right about him. Percival Graves was not a good man and he knew it. 

 

* * *

 

“The ‘liquid gold’ in the ingredients was translated wrong by that Muggle, Al-Shalad found to translate, then?” Theseus asked his brother, leaning back in the chair next to Newt’s bed.

Newt had been granted a private room on MACUSA dollar at the hospital; a blatant  _ we’re-sorry-you-almost-died-and-thank-you-for-doing-our-job-for-us _ . But, since the bed was comfy, the room quiet and someone had obviously had the brilliant idea administer pain potions, Newt felt no need to complain about it.

“Aqua Regia is so far from Caesium that the only part of the translation that  _ was _ accurate for ‘liquid gold’ was the  _ liquid _ part,” Newt said, head flopping to the side, smushing his cheek into his pillow so that he could look at his brother. “I think our potions professor at Hogwarts would have murdered us had we managed to err so many times, with so many ingredients, in so spectacular a way.”

Theseus nodded. “Blowing up half a cotton mill is spectacular, yes.” He smirked. “I overheard some of the Auror’s at the scene complimenting your continuing trend for levelling the city whenever you’re around.”

Newt scowled. “Two times does no’ a tren’ make,” he muttered darkly, words slurring as the pain potions a mediwitch had forced on him began to take effect.

“Get some rest, brother mine.” Theseus leant forward in his chair, reaching out to grasp one of Newt’s hand in a gentle, reassuring grip. “You deserve it, hero.”

“No’ a hero,” Newt mumbled, blinking sleepily. “Yo’r job t’ be hero.”

Theseus’s smile grew, deep with fondness and pride. “Not this time. Not this time.”

“Is he asleep?” Graves asked, appearing at the door. Theseus nodded, not looking away from his brother’s face. “Good. I’ll send an Auror to take his statement when he’s awake in a few hours.” He began to turn away, only to stop when Theseus spoke.

“Sit down, Percival,” Theseus ordered softly, grey-blue eyes locked onto his brother’s young face. The pain potion had knocked his brother out – with a little help from a sleeping draught Theseus had advised the mediwitch to add to it. It made the tension, pressure, and stress Newt lived with daily disappear, leaving his brother looking younger and more like the age he actually was rather than the age he felt some days. 

“I wouldn’t wish to impose–” Graves began only for Theseus to cut him off. 

“You’re not. My brother likes you, Percival. And you, him. So, shut up, sit down, and reassure yourself that my brother is still breathing thanks to a lot of luck, the stupidity of fools, and the effort you put into finding him when he was taken. Even if you had to do things he doesn't like, it was necessary.”

Graves stared at Theseus for a long moment before his gaze fell to Newt, lingering on his face in a way that, to anyone else, might have been mistaken for a dismissive look. But Theseus had been watching his brother and Percival for a while now, ever since Newt’s hackles had risen when Theseus had spoken of Tina as a potential love-interest. He knew there was definitely something between his brother and Percival, though whether it was anything more than a generic ‘something’, Theseus wasn’t sure.

Graves conjured a second seat with his wand and set it down beside Newt’s bed, close enough for him to learn forward and take his other hand if he so wished. Theseus doubted the man would while he was present. When Graves’s sat down, stiff and reserved in a way that had Theseus’s spine aching in sympathy, Theseus gave him a slight smile.

“Watch him for me, will you?” Theseus let go of Newt’s hand, stretching in his chair like a cat. “I need a few minutes to wake up and some coffee.” Then, without waiting for Graves to respond, Theseus stood up and made for the door. “He’ll be out for a few hours, but his head injury means someone has to be with him in case he loses control of his magic while out.”

“The mediwitch gave him a sleeping draught?” Graves questioned, shifting in his chair to look at Theseus by the door. “I thought that’s unwise with head injuries?”

“Usually.” Theseus opened the door. “But this isn’t a muggle head injury, it’s more a magical injury that’s localised to his head. From the potion exploding, I think. The danger isn’t that he won’t wake up, but more that he might lash out with magic instinctively. The sleeping draught limits the potential for dreams making that less likely, but there’s still a possibility.”

Graves nodded, turning back around to stare at Newt as Theseus slipped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him near-silently. Left in the silence, alone, Graves’s mask of indifference slipped away.

“Idiot,” he whispered softly, barely audible. “Stupid, kinda, noble  _ idiot _ . Almost getting yourself killed by blowing up a factory.” Percy smiled painfully. “I’m not even surprised. Horrified and terrified by it, but not surprised.”

Lying unconscious in his bed, Newt offered no comment or answer to Percy’s words, but his very presence allowed something to relax deep in his chest, like a bind around his heart slowly loosening and allowing it to beat somewhat normally.

Percy leaned forward in his chair, bending himself almost in two in order to reach out and press his hand against Newt’s own. The skin was tougher than he’d expected, calluses and scars that were barely visible easily noticeable through touch. A gentle, reassuring warmth emanated from the magizoologist’s hand, accompanied by the faint beat of a pulse that was steady and level. 

Searching Newt’s face, Percy curled his fingers around Newt’s limp hand, clinging to it lightly but firmly, like a thirsting man given water he was unsure he was going to keep or give up for another to have.

“You infuriate me, Scamander,” Percy confessed. “You’re absolutely brilliant and so strong magically but you do everything you can to hide both, letting people underestimate you all the damned time. You act so shy and nervous, but I’ve seen you shed that persona like it’s just a coat you throw on each morning to keep people away from you. I’m envious of how you can manipulate people and I’m wary of it at the same time.” Percy shook his head, snorting derisively. “The first time we met, you did everything you could to make sure I was relaxed, even after what happened with– with Grindelwald. You were so different to what I’d been expecting, the person I’d heard about from my own people, the person your file  _ said _ you were. How was I supposed to ignore you?”

Percy glanced away from Scamander’s sleeping form, a disdainful smile on his face before he looked back, features smoothing out again. “I guess everyone else has always focused on your brother? He’s very good at drawing attention, and even better at  _ directing _ it. But so are you… You just do it differently, don’t you, Newton? Nervous smiles instead of booming laughter.” He laughed softly. “Gods but I’m scared. Scared of what I feel, what you might feel… I’m just–” Percy snatched his hand away from Newt’s as though the very touch burned him. He grimaced, eyebrows pulled down and together as he screwed his eyes shut. “You’re right about me. I’m not a good person, and I’m no different to any other wizard about. I’m ignorant of so many things, and I hide my ignorance with anger.” He sighed.

“Everything that happened with Grindelwald made me so angry,” Percy confessed in a whisper. “All the nervous tiptoeing of medics and colleagues, people who knew me and still missed that I was stuffed in _a damned trunk in my own home_. It was easier to be angry at everything than it was to be afraid.” Percy looked up at the ceiling, eyes idly tracing the shifting patterns painted on it. “I’ve forced myself these past months to not be afraid, but the fear is always there. A fear I can’t talk about, that I won’t talk about to anyone because this job is everything to me. I can’t– I _can’t_ _lose_ _it_.” Percy blinked back unexpected tears, surprised at his own weakness. Clearing his throat, he forced himself to look back at the magizoologist asleep in the bed beside him. “And now you’re part of my work too. Seraphina has signed off on you being put on retainer by MACUSA to consult on any cases that may pertain to magical beasts and– and to work on revising current legislation for control of them… she’s made it impossible for anything to– for anything to happen.” Percy smiled bitterly. “I don’t know if I want to thank her or curse her.”

The door behind Percy clicked open and he straightened immediately in his chair, shifting so that his hands were in his lap, face smooth of any expression. 

“I brought you a coffee, Percival,” Theseus said, kicking the door closed with his foot. In his hands, he held two steaming mugs, one bitter-smelling, the other softer and sweeter. “Didn’t bother putting sugar or creamer in it, I remember the death glare you gave to that under-secretary in the war for adding them to your morning coffee.”

Percy turned in his chair just enough to take the mug from Theseus, nodding his thanks. “It’s a waste of good coffee.”

Theseus smiled, plopping himself down in his chair. “Couldn’t agree more, just don’t think to do that to my tea and we’re good,” he said with a grin.

Silence reigned for a while as both Auror’s focused on their drinks, each preoccupied with different matters. Theseus kept shooting his brother’s sleeping form quick glances, as though reassuring himself that Newt was okay. Percy kept his gaze glued to his mug, or the walls, studiously avoiding looking at the magizoologist or his brother.

“Well,” Percy began, looking at Theseus then back at his empty mug, “I really should be going, Theseus.”

Theseus looked at Percy, his gaze uncomfortably similar to his brother’s when the younger Scamander was evaluating something. After a moment, Theseus nodded. “Okay, Percival. Good luck with the paperwork.”

Percy didn’t breathe out a sigh of relief at Theseus not pressing him, but he felt a pressure on him disappear as though it had been hit with a vanishing charm. He gave Theseus another nod of thanks, placed the empty mug on the bedside cabinet near Newt’s head, pausing to look at the magizoologist’s face. The soft flutter of movement beneath Newt’s eyelids was absent, marking the influence of dreamless sleep, and his expression was softly lax and lacking any of the sharpness Scamander made great efforts to hide from others. There was an air of gentle softness to the magizoologist.

Percy blinked, turning away from the brothers Scamander, and made his way to the door. Without looking back, he slipped through the door, closing it behind him with a quiet click. The corridor beyond the private room was silent, absent of activity, but the buzz of magical alarms cast by Percy himself served as an early-warning system in case Scamander was still in danger.

The wizard who had kidnapped and forced him to participate in the potion’s creation may have died in the explosion, but Percy wasn’t foolish enough to think that was the end of it. There was more to this case than there first appeared, and it was entirely possible that Scamander could be targeted again.

Percy might deny it all he wanted, refuse to consider it or entertain it, and he would absolutely refuse to ever admit it to the man in question, but he knew the lengths he’d go to in order to protect those he cared about. No… not just  _ cared _ . People he  _ loved _ . Even if they’d never love him back.

Gods protect anyone who tried to harm Scamander from here on in. They’d be risking their lives in a way they wouldn’t even realise until Percy was there, wand at the ready. He was judge and jury. He was the executioner, the last point of the judicial scale. 

Anyone who went after Scamander again… their fate would already be decided.

 

* * *

 

“You don’t have to do this Newt.” Tina’s voice echoed in the empty corridor as they walked down towards the holding cells in the Woolworth building. She’d been watching her friend with a sharp, worried look in her eyes that Newt had tried to ignore.

After he’d woken up in the hospital he’d realised something he had no desire to share with anyone else. His magical awareness, already pronounced from practice, had increased exponentially. Newt could feel everything around him without pause. It was both exhausting and illuminating.

Tina’s worry permeated her magical core, leaking out from her in soft tendrils like ribbon strands brushing against Newt’s skin. Her protectiveness and anger at the agreement that had been made without his consent rolled around, licking at his heels like flames of an unending fire. 

He smiled softly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “I know, Tina,” he said, ducking his head down, partly habit and partly due to his tiredness.

“So why are you then?” She asked, that roiling protective-anger mix flaring and causing him to wince. 

He couldn’t wait for this awareness to decrease.  _ If _ it decreased. ‘ _ Let’s  _ not _ go down that path hmm, _ ’ he thought as he continued walking down the corridor, idly noting how the grey-red brick walls suddenly changed into stark white-washed walls with a pale grey floor.

“Because I…” he hesitated, uncertain. “I don’t quite know how to- to explain it,” he confessed softly. How could he explain why he’d agreed to this? Madame Picquery had been more than clear that he wasn’t obligated to follow through with the agreement  –  pointing out she’d made it without his consent and, technically, that Grindelwald’s information hadn’t exactly rescued him so much as Newt had rescued  _ himself _ . Still…

“Newt?” Tina’s voice was soft, hesitant, and Newt blinked.

He’d stopped walking suddenly. Tina looked up at him, her concern growing. “You’re not well enough for this – ” she began but Newt cut her off with a shake of his head.

“No, no,” he insisted, “I’m fine, honest. It’s just – ” he bit his lip “ – it’s complicated,” he finished weakly.

Tina stared at him for a long moment, her concern warring with the knowledge that Newt was an adult and could make his own decisions. He wondered what Queenie would say if she were present; probably something about the emotions clawing at his insides. 

“When isn’t it with you,” Tina said eventually, quirking her lip up into a half-smile. Newt returned the smile, grateful that she was willing to drop the topic.

The next check-point was only around the corner. “We should uh- we should go.”

Tina nodded, not saying anything, as she turned and pointedly walked ahead of Newt, allowing him a moment to compose himself. He needed to be focused on the present, not losing himself in his thoughts. Grindelwald was a challenge at the best of times, he couldn’t afford to let himself be distracted by the Dark Wizard.

Walking down the white-walled corridor haltingly, his body still tender and stiff from the unplanned collapse of the building he’d been held captive in, Newt desperately wished Tina had been able to accompany him further. She had been halted back at the second check-point, her status as a junior Auror too low to permit her any further, however, leaving him alone from this point onwards.

It was probably for the best in truth, but still.

The only others permitted past the final check-point, besides those with clearance such as Madame Picquery, were the custodians. They were, Newt assumed, similar in role to muggle prison guards.

“This way Mister Scamander,” a custodian, clad in a non-descript set of black robes which reminded Newt forcibly of image he’d seen in a muggle history book from the dark ages, said quietly. His eyes were arguably the only things Newt could see, as well as a thin sliver of the man’s face, his robes hooded and designed in a way that obscured most of his facial features. It felt like being spoken to by death. “The prisoner is ready now.”

Newt swallowed thickly, throat dry in a way that was both completely unexpected and yet expected. A fear response at war with his own inability to truly back down from the threat of another; especially  _ this _ other.

“You will not initiate any physical contact with the prisoner,” the custodian ordered, stopping at a thick, steel and lead mix door. “The prisoner is not to be handed anything, you are to leave you wand with myself if you have not left it at the last check-point,” he continued, and Newt obediently drew his wand from his sleeve, holding it out handle-first to the custodian who silently tucked it away within his robes.

“Is that all?” Newt asked, avoiding looking at the custodian’s eyes, his own habitual tendency to avoid eye contact adding to his own reluctance to gauge anyone’s opinions on his agreement to a deal he’d had no say in. Not that he needed to look at the custodian or anyone else to know their feelings on this.

“The Madame President has stated that you are not obligated to do this, Mister Scamander, and wishes only to ascertain if you are certain you wish to do this.” The custodian’s voice had softened from the quiet clipped tone it had maintained from the beginning, his magical aura shifting to reflect the vocal change. 

Newt slowly looked at the custodian, making eye contact with the man, noting how dark his eyes were. There was a hint of discomfort present in them. He looked away, gaze landing on the steel-lead door he stood in front of; the only thing that separated him from the man he knew was awaiting him. He could turn around now, walk away, refuse to entertain this any longer. 

“Certain?” Newt questioned softly, shaking his head slightly. “Not in the slightest, but… well… I’m still going to do it.”

The custodian nodded. “Very well, Mister Scamander.”

_ ‘Thee would kill me if he knew I’d been given the choice of backing out of this a second time,’ _ he thought dryly. The custodian moved forward, gloved hand resting momentarily on the spot where a handle would be on a conventional door.

After a long moment the door let out an audible hiss-click, swinging forward on silent hinges revealing white walls and grey flooring  –  hardly any different to the corridor Newt stood in. He stood there, breathing near soundlessly as he focused on the situation in hand. It was a lot more real with the door open than it had been back at the check-point with Tina.

“Oh, do come in Newt, we  _ must _ catch up!” A mockingly polite voice called out from within the room, out of view of the doorway. Newt startled, flinching minutely. “It’s been  _ years _ since we had an honest conversation after all.”

Newt’s lips tightened, muscles in his neck tensing at the reminder. Taking a swift step forward, Newt discarded all hint of his physical discomfort and exhaustion, the behavioural cues he’d used for years to deflect attention falling away, replaced with something infinitely more confident and assured.

“Grindelwald.”

Grindelwald tsk-ed. “Now Newt, really you can call me Gellert, can’t you? I think you earned that right back when you disarmed me.” he said conversationally.

Newt stared coldly at Grindelwald, refusing to break eye contact with the Dark Wizard. “You are a Dark Wizard who not only caused the unnecessary death of an innocent young man, but has also purposefully promoted hysteria, fear, and hatred of muggles across Europe,” Newt paused. “Among other things,” he added after a moment. “I have no desire to speak to you as though you were worthy of basic decency.”

Throughout Newt’s response, Grindelwald’s expression had grown sharper, colder but with a mark of amusement in his mismatched eyes. Now he openly smiled, teeth showing.

“Well now,” he said, “I thought your shyness during your interrogation was a ruse but not to this extent.” Grindelwald’s smile grew. “I wonder how much all those little Aurors and mundane wizards see just what you are deep down, Newton.”

Newt kept his body still and fought back the wave of reactionary tension that fought to have his muscles stiffen at Grindelwald’s words. He wouldn’t be Grindelwald’s puppet. 

“You made a deal with Madame Picquery,” Newt said, not responding to Grindelwald’s needling. “One which provided them with valuable information that led to my rescue and, in exchange, you wanted to see me.” Newt tilted his head to the side, studying Grindelwald who studied him back. “Why?”

Grindelwald shrugged. “Why not?”

Newt bit back an irritated comment, turning on his heel. “If that’s the case then your curiosity has been sated and I will go back to my life – ”

“I always thought your last name was the same as Albus’s.”

Newt stopped mid-step, freezing.

“Obviously I should have stopped to learn more about you, but I’ll confess I was preoccupied at that time in my life,” Grindelwald continued conversationally. “An oversight on my part, I wouldn’t have underestimated you had I realised who you were when we met.”

Newt slowly turned around.

“Would it have made any difference in the tunnel?” He asked, already knowing the answer to that question. His voice had already been clipped and cold but now it was down-right freezing. A cold fire, something Newt rarely displayed.

His anger had always run colder rather than hot like Thee’s.

“Of course, it would have,” Grindelwald answered immediately, sitting forward in his chair, chains clinking on the table as he moved. “I remember you when you were a child, not even five years of age. I would never have raised my wand against you had I known who you were.”

Newt’s lip curled. “Now we both know that’s a lie, Gellert,” he said mockingly. “I know all the sordid details of your past, and I know the type of man you are; I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of men like you.”

Newt moved back towards the table, hands gripping the back of the chair he hadn’t bothered to seat himself at. He leaned forward, bringing his face only a few inches from Grindelwald’s own. 

“If you had realised who I was, who I am related to,” Newt said softly, eyes boring into the Dark Wizard’s, “you would have stopped at  _ nothing _ to try and turn me to your side, to make up for your failure with Albus. For the pain you've caused him in this mad pursuit of power.”

Grindelwald’s features twisted into a snarl, anger flashing in his eyes, before it disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. The Dark Wizard smirked.

“You’re so certain of your own goodness, Newton, but we both know you’re not as good a person as you lead others to think,” Grindelwald replied, eyes flashing. “The Hufflepuff who everyone dismisses for his Gryffindor brother. They don’t realise you’re the deadlier of the two; just like everyone thought Albus so good and noble.”

Grindelwald leaned forward even further, reducing the distance between Newt and himself until it was only centimetres. “I know ruthless when I see it Newton,” he said softly, smile softening as his eyes flickered across Newt’s face, drinking in his expression. “And you are as ruthless as they come little Scamander.”

Newt smiled bitterly. “Maybe,” he admitted, voice soft and quiet, “but at least I’m ruthless against people like you who try to hurt others for the own ends. Personal gain, greed; it’s all that drives you, Gellert. Like a child who wants the toy he’s been denied and throws a tantrum over it, that’s what you are. A spoilt child hating the world because it keeps telling you ‘no’.”

Straightening up, Newt laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh, it was cold and bitter and sad. It was the feelings he hid deep inside from the view of the world. “It was nice to see you Gellert, but I’m afraid this will be the last time we speak to each other ever again.”

Turning on his heel, Newt strode towards the door, rapping on it with his knuckles twice to let the custodian outside know he was done. Gellert watched him silently as the door unlocked and swung open. Just as Newt began to cross the threshold, the Dark Wizard spoke: “We’ll speak again, Newt,” he said, “I promise you that.”

Newt ignored him, ignored the shiver that ran down his spine at the absolute surety in Grindelwald’s voice. He left the cell with the Dark Wizard in it behind, hurrying along the corridor back to where Tina was waiting.

He had other things to focus on besides Grindelwald. He needed to sort his life out as it was now.

And he had a dozen Hellhound pups to take care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm seriously so happy and so thankful for everyone who has read this fic, this series, and encouraged me to write this. I can't tell you how much it matters to me that ya'll enjoy what I've written (especially when I just don't know what I've actually spewed out half the time haha).
> 
> I don't know if I'll write more to this anytime soon, I'm sort of limited on ideas. There's bits here and there that I could probably work into a fic but real life is really demanding my attention.

**Author's Note:**

> Any mistakes, grammar errors etc are all mine because I'm a dyslexic mess.


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